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crsschk
Member



Joined: 2003/6/11
Posts: 9192
Santa Clara, CA

 Death awaits

Our brother suggested isolating this from another posting [url=https://www.sermonindex.net/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=14697&forum=34]The life and letters of John Angell James[/url] and after some contemplation and humbling of that show of false humility, thought it best to carry this on here...
It does need it's own isolation and devotion.

[b]Devotion
DEVOTION, n.[/b]

1. The state of being dedicated, consecrated, or solemnly set apart for a particular purpose.

2. A solemn attention to the Supreme Being in worship; a yielding of the heart and affections to God, with reverence, faith and piety, in religious duties, particularly in prayer and meditation; devoutness.

3. External worship; acts of religion; performance of religious duties.

As I passed by and beheld your devotions. Acts 17.

4. Prayer to the Supreme Being. A Christian will be regular in his morning and evening devotions.

5. An act of reverence, respect or ceremony.

6. Ardent love or affection; attachment manifested by constant attention; as, the duke was distinguished by his devotion to the king, and to the interest of the nation.

7. Earnestness; ardor; eagerness.

He seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him.

8. Disposal; power of disposing of; state of dependence.

Arundel castle would keep that rich corner of the country at his majestys devotion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have asked our brother to copy over the same replies from the above link as well as they pertain to death. And pray as well that the letters and thoughts of John Angell James are well attended to on their own, a man of great insight and honest extraction.


_________________
Mike Balog

 2007/2/16 8:10Profile
crsschk
Member



Joined: 2003/6/11
Posts: 9192
Santa Clara, CA

 Re: Death awaits

SORROW FOR THE DEATH OF FRIENDS


By John Angell James, on the death of his wife


"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I
will leave this life. The Lord gives, and the Lord
takes away. Praise the name of the Lord! (Job 1:21)

"See, I am the only God! There are no others. I kill,
and I make alive! I wound, and I heal, and no one
can rescue you from My power!" Deuteronomy 32:39


I hope I shall not be thought by any to be indelicately obtruding my personal sorrows upon public attention. I allude to the situation in which I am placed by a mysterious but all-wise Providence. If I refer to the event that has now befallen me, it is not to move your sympathy, for this has already flowed towards me in full tide, and in every variety of soothing attentions, both before and since the stroke of separation; and for which I thus publicly return you my sincere gratitude—but it is for a still higher and holier purpose, to promote your spiritual welfare. If the ordinary afflictions of life should be improved by us for our good, surely the deeper sorrows of the grave should be eminently conducive to our soul's present and eternal welfare. When it is not possible for us to derive any further benefit from the life of our friends, we should be tremblingly solicitous to receive it from their death. When their own vital selves are no longer before us in all the beautiful form and activity of a holy example, and nothing remains of them but their tomb and their memory—we should render these precious remains subservient to our spiritual improvement. This is the best, the only compensation for their loss.

When a holy and beloved object of our affection is removed by death, we ought to sorrow. Humanity demands it, and Christianity, in the person of the weeping Jesus, allows it. The man without a tear, is a savage or a Stoic—but not a Christian. God intends when he bestows his gifts—that they should be received with smiles of gratitude; and when he recalls them—that they should be surrendered with "drops of sacred grief." Sorrow is an affection implanted by the Creator in the soul, for wise and beneficent purposes; and it ought not to be ruthlessly torn up by the roots—but directed in its exercise by reason and piety. The work of grace, though it is above nature—is not against it. The man who tells me not to weep at the grave, insults me, mocks me, and wishes to degrade me. I do weep. I must weep. I cannot help it. God requires me to do so—and has opened a fountain of tears in my nature for that purpose. And it is the silent, pure, unsophisticated testimony of my heart to the excellence of the gift he gave in mercy; and in mercy, no doubt, as well as judgment, has recalled.

Without sorrow we would not improve by his correcting hand; chastened grief is like the gentle shower, falling first upon the earth to prepare it for the seed, and then upon the seed to cause it to germinate. Wild, clamorous, passionate sorrow is like the thunder shower of inundation—which carries away soil and seed together. Can we lose the company of one whose presence was the light and charm of our dwelling, whose society was the source of our most valuable and most highly valued earthly comfort; whose love, ever new and fresh, was presented daily to us in full cup by her own hand; who cheered us with her conversation; bore with our infirmities; solved our doubts; disclosed to us in difficulty the path of duty; and quickened us by her example—is it possible, I say, to lose such a friend—and not sorrow?

But, then, though we mourn—we must not murmur. We may sorrow—but not with the passionate and uncontrolled grief of the heathen, who have no hope. Our sorrow must flow, deep as we like, but noiseless and still—in the channels of submission. It must be a sorrow so quiet, as to hear all the words of consolation which our heavenly Father utters amidst the gentle strokes of his rod. It must be a sorrow so reverential, as to adore him for the exercise of his prerogative in taking away what and whom he pleases. It must be a sorrow so composed, as to prepare us for doing his will as well as bearing it. It must be a sorrow so meek and gentle, as to justify him in his dispensations. It must be a sorrow so confiding, as to be assured that there is as much love in taking the mercy away—as there was in bestowing it. It must be a sorrow so grateful, as to be thankful for the mercies left, as well as afflicted for the mercies lost. It must be a sorrow so trustful, as to look forward to the future with hope, as well as back upon the past with distress. It must be a sorrow so patient, as to bear all the aggravations that accompany or follow the bereavement with unruffled acquiescence. It must be a sorrow so holy, as to lift the prayer of faith for Divine grace to sanctify the stroke. It must be a sorrow so lasting, as to preserve through all the coming years of life the benefit of that event, which in one solemn moment changed the whole aspect of our earthly existence.

When grief impairs the health and preys upon the constitution, it is "the sorrow of the world which works death;" when it closes the ear to the words of consolation, and the eye to mercies left; when it paralyzes the energies, and benumbs and stupefies the soul, so that incumbent duties, personal and relative, domestic and social, civil and sacred, are neglected, and the soul does nothing but lie down upon the sepulcher to weep; when it refuses to be comforted, even with all the consolation of the gospel—then it is a sorrow unworthy of the honorable name which the Christian bears.

But it is not against too long and too deep a sorrow that some need to be admonished, but against a too short and too superficial sorrow. Nothing promises more, and, too generally, yields less improvement and benefit, than the death of friends. At their decease life loses its charm; society, occupation, and favorite tastes, give up their attraction; the pall that covers their dear remains extends its dark folds over all other things; and every hope is entombed in their grave. Temporal things fade, and are lost amidst the glory and grandeur of eternal things. Invisible realities displace from imagination the vain shows and shadows of the visible world! The tie that binds us to earth is cut, and our spirit seems set loose to rise to heaven and glory. For a while we hear the voice which comes from the tomb. The edifying and exemplary life; the triumphant death; the kind and pious counsels, and the tender or affectionate farewell of a beloved companion—for some days or weeks employ our thoughts or engross our conversation. We can talk and think of nothing else, as long as our sorrow remains.

But, by degrees, the world which seemed dead, corrupted, and loathsome—recovers its life, its health, its attractions, and its power. Time abates the violence of grief; "by degrees new associations are formed, new projects are devised, new pleasures are pursued; the stream of reflection is diverted into other and far different channels; the heart plunges as deeply as ever into worldly hopes and fears; the fondness for what was lately pronounced vanity and vexation of spirit, is revived. Thus the tears shed for departed friends have been shed in vain, and they who were stricken by God and afflicted, hearken no longer to the voice of the rod, and reap no lasting fruit from correction.

It is wisely ordered, I know, that the poignancy of sorrow should be abated by the lapse of time, and that the mind by its elastic power should rise from beneath the first pressure of overwhelming calamity—or else death would smite with paralysis the whole framework of society. Still it must be confessed and lamented, that in too many cases the grief of the mourner is too evanescent, either for a just tribute to the memory of 'departed excellence', or for his own spiritual improvement. If departed spirits could be spectators of what is going on upon earth, and were susceptible of the frailties of their mortal sojourn, it would surprise and grieve them, in some cases, to see how soon the grass grows around their sepulcher, and the foot turns from it into another path! It would check our vanity and curb our expectations of posthumous honor and affection—to think how soon our names will be pronounced without a tear, and our history be forgotten amidst the new objects that rise to occupy our place!

But it is now time to consider the LESSONS to be learned by the death of Christian friends.


1. How dreadful is the nature of SIN! Sin is the parent of death; and death the first-born of sin. What must be the parent—when so hideous and so dreadful is the offspring? Who can have watched the harbingers of death—"the groans, the pains, the dying strife," and have seen all this in the dying Christian too, without being struck with the fearful nature of man's revolt from God? True, "the mortal paleness on the cheek" is associated, almost irradiated, with "a glory from the soul," just as the rays of the sun, falling upon a base and even unsightly object, may conceal its deformity from an observer at a little distance. But death in itself, and by itself—is horrid and revolting! To see all this inflicted, I repeat, upon a Christian, a saint, a child of God, an heir of glory; to see no way even to the kingdom of God, to the realms of immortality—but this dark valley of corruption, earth, and worms—this gives us a most impressive idea of the dreadful nature of sin!

Grace triumphs, I admit. The soul rises superior to its situation, sees the glimpses of glory in that low, dark situation, and echoes amidst the groans of expiring nature the song of the redeemed. Yes, but then this is the victory of faith over death; this is grace triumphing over sin. Take away what grace does—and all that pertains to death itself, is as awful in the most eminent believer, as in the most confirmed and blaspheming infidel. Death, as to its physical effects, cannot change its nature, though, in the death of the Christian, sin and grace, in their effects, are often presented in wondrous conflict and in glorious contrast. How such scenes should enlarge our views of the malignity of sin, and embitter our hearts against it! O sin, sin—what have you done!


2. But what a glorious view does the death of Christians give us of the work of our Lord JESUS Christ, as the great peace-maker with God through the blood of his cross; as the destroyer of death; the Prince of life; the restorer of immortality; the compassionate High Priest of his people; their companion and helper in the mortal conflict; and their conductor to celestial glory! There it is—his mediatorial office; his redeeming work; his soul-saving power; his abounding mercy; not in a sermon, not in a book, no, not even in a verse or page of the New Testament—but in the glorious result and reality, embodied in that dying saint, set forth in that dissolving yet imperishable believer.

Hear the comfortable words that fall from the lips of the departing Christian, as his voice, almost lost in death, still praises God, and sends forth expressions which seem more like the first sounds of the cherubim's song than the last words of mortal man. See the peace which spreads over the countenance, and the sparkle which lights up with joy the eye that is growing dim in death. What is it all? How does this come to pass? Why that tranquility on the verge of the grave—that confidence in the near prospect of meeting a holy God—that voluntary surrender of life—that fearless tread down into the dark valley—that resolute plunge into the vast abyss of eternity—that act of the soul herself in loosening all the ties which bound her to earth, and laying hold of a hand that is lifting her up to the heavens? Why that that longing after holiness, as if the atmosphere, not only of the world but of the church, was not pure enough for her to breathe—that reaching after the presence of a glorified Savior—that sweet spirit of ineffable charity, which casts back its smiles on the world it is leaving, and which covets to be in a world of pure unmixed love?

I say, what is this? "O Redeemer of our lost, and sinful, and miserable world—this is your love's redeeming work—the glory of your cross—the fruit of your agonies—the travail of your soul!" Yes, this is true religion—it is faith, hope, love! It is a scene that presents the work of grace on earth, and as much of the work of glory as can be seen on earth. Does it not prove the reality of religion? Is it not an evidence of the truth of the Bible? Is there anything like it, can there be anything like it, in the region of imposture? Is it not—too holy for falsehood; too elevated for delusion; too sober for mere enthusiasm? What a view does it give us of the excellence and power of religion! Never does true piety shine brighter than in such a dark scene as this! Never does it appear stronger than in this scene of weakness! Never does piety appear more beautiful, than when thus surrounded with all that is repulsive in disease and death! Next to a seraph spirit before us in the robes of light and immortality—the dying believer, triumphing by faith and hope over the last enemy—is the brightest specimen of our holy religion!

My dear friends, do not be afraid to die! Trust the Conqueror of death with your soul—not only for 'living duties' but for 'dying agonies'. Seek more and more of that piety for your living scenes, which you saw putting forth its power and beauties amidst the dying scenes of your friends. It is a mistake, and a dangerous error, to suppose that God intentionally reserves the joy and peace of believing, for a death bed. He is willing to give us grace to enjoy all this peace now. It is our own fault that we are not thus blessed as Christians, while engaged in the affairs of life. If faith, and hope, and love—which can do all this for dying saints—and they can do the same things for living ones.

And this is one use we should make of such scenes—to quicken our graces, to shame us for our lukewarmness, to cure us of our worldly-mindedness! Dying saints are patterns, not only for other dying saints, but for living ones. Our exclamation, on witnessing such, should not only be, "Let me die thus," but—"Let me live thus." "Let me be thus holy, thus heavenly now. I cannot wait until I die for this grace—I want it now! I will seek for it now! I must have it now!" And you may.


3. The death of Christian friends should impress us with, even as it shows us—the vanity of the WORLD. All that poetry ever wrote—even the most mournful, beautiful, and pensive of its strains—all that philosophy ever argued—all that morality ever taught, conveys no such view, and is calculated to produce no such impressions, of the emptiness of the world—as the desolate chamber, the vacant place, the deserted chair, the picture of some dear object of our heart's affection. It is at the tomb of that loved, lost friend, the world stands stripped of its false disguise, and is presented to us as a shadow! Gloom now covers everything. Scenes that once pleased, please no more. Favorite walks are shunned, or re-trodden only to remind us of the dear companion that once shared their beauties with us. Seasons return, but not to bring with them the delights with which the presence of one beloved object associates them. We go about in the bitterness of our spirit, crying, "Vanity of vanity—all is vanity and vexation of spirit!" We are ready to sigh for death to relieve us from the tedium of existence, and the sense of emptiness!

Be it so! It is all true! The world is empty—and it was intended by God that it should be! The world contains no satisfying bliss! It is a cistern, a broken cistern, which can hold no water. God told us so, but we would not learn this by His word—so now we must learn it by painful experience! If we cannot be taught by 'faith', since we must learn—we are in mercy taught by feeling it to be empty! Oh let us go to the fountain that is full, flowing, open! Let us go to the fountain of living waters! If there is emptiness, nothingness, in the world—there is fullness in God. He makes angels happy; he makes perfect spirits happy; he makes Christ's human nature happy; he makes himself happy—and cannot he make us happy? Is there enough in Him to satisfy millions of millions, and not enough to satisfy us? Let us crucify the world—there is more happiness in a crucified world, than in an idolized one.

How, then, we should die to the world! I know that faith is the consecrated means of gaining this victory. I know that it is amidst the glory of the cross and of heaven—that all the twinkling and artificial lights of this world, like the gaudy luster of an candle, expiring as the sun rises in splendor upon the earth, should fade away and become invisible. I know that one clear, impressive, heart-satisfying view of a crucified and glorified Christ, does more to wean our affections from seen and temporal things, than the bleakest and dreariest aspect of this sublunary scene. But still, it is well to press everything into the work and service of our mortification to seen and temporal things. It is well to feel how much less there is on earth to love. It is well to feel how impoverished and disfigured and unattractive it has become by the removal of that which constituted its loveliest charm; and, therefore, how much less worthy it is of our regard than it was. If our hearts cannot die to the world anywhere else—let them be crucified at the tomb of those we love.


4. From the death of our friends, we learn how important it is to discharge well our duty to those who remain. Perhaps no one ever yet committed to the tomb an object of his dear affection, without some reproach for not having duly appreciated its value while the blessing was possessed—or for not having treated it with sufficient tenderness and attention. The magnitude of our mercies seems to be best seen by the shadows they cast behind them as they retire from us! And our obligations to promote the happiness of our friends are never so well understood—as when the opportunity for discharging them is forever gone. The most sincere, ardent, and unvarying affection, when its object is removed, finds out how much more could have been done for its happiness than was done.

Many and sad are the regrets which we pour out at the sepulcher of our friends—for unrequited proofs of regard, which at the time made little or no impression upon us; for acts of unselfish and devoted service which were received with too much coldness or ingratitude; for duties neglected, which might have been performed; for opportunities to give pleasure, which were allowed to pass by unimproved; for words too sharply spoken, or unkind feelings too hastily indulged. Such injuries, often more imaginary than real, though sometimes true, can never be repaired—and it is the sting of sorrow that they cannot; for the grave has closed over the subject of them. That grave, however, sends forth a warning voice—Go perform every duty in love, in season, and in measure to the friends that remain! Do now what you will certainly wish you had done, when the time for acting is at an end! Perform every office of benevolence, discharge every duty of affection, while it can be performed! Beware of being guilty of that neglect, or of doing that hurt to another, which his death may make it impossible for you to redress. Whatever your hand finds to do for the good of your friend—do it speedily with your might! For your friend may die, and there is no work nor action in the grave. Your tears of regret, your confession of unkindness, your wishes for reparation—will not reach him there!


5. We should curb the selfishness of our sorrow, by rejoicing in the PRESENT FELICITY of our departed friends—and thus make their decease a means of promoting the virtue of unselfish benevolence. They are with the Lord, where they longed to be, and are fully blessed in the enjoyment of his love! Have we not love enough for them, to choose that they should remain in that blissful place where they now are? They have looked on the beauties of the New Jerusalem! They have fallen in humble adoration and ecstatic joy before the throne of God! They have seen the glory of the Lamb! They have eaten the fruit of the tree of life, and drunk from the crystal stream that flows from the living fountains of waters! They are perfect in holiness, happiness, and knowledge! Would we pluck them from such bliss, and imprison them again in our world and in the flesh, merely to solace us, to wipe away the tears from our eyes, and to weep with us when we weep? Let us better discipline our hearts. Let us go up in faith and in imagination to rejoice with them—since they cannot come down to weep with us. This is cultivating the generous, unselfish, and benevolent affections. It is high and difficult virtue; the last triumph of affection; and the profoundest exercise of love!


6. Let us learn the duty of sending our hearts after our friends—to heaven. If their removal has impoverished earth, it has enriched heaven! And though the presence of Christ is the sun of the celestial world, and the Lamb is the glory thereof—yet the apostle speaks with joy of our gathering together unto Jesus, of our coming to the spirits of just men made perfect, and of the joy and crown of rejoicing which our friends will be to us on the day of our Lord. Surely, it will be no small joy to meet those in heaven, whom we loved on earth! And though Christ is the great magnet that draws all holy hearts to paradise, yet even our blessed and glorified friends are not without a certain and legitimate, though inferior influence of the same kind.


7. We should imitate their virtues. It is a lovely propensity of our nature, which leads us to forget the failings of departed friends, and hold fast their excellences. And those whom we were perhaps but too apt to censure while they lived, we are willing to canonize when they are dead. Their decease has invested their character with new beauty; and their virtues appear to us, even as they are presented to us by memory, to have caught and to reflect some of the light of heaven, to which they have ascended. And, indeed, this in many cases is the fact, for we see such a maturity of spiritual graces, such a measure of the beauties of holiness in their last days, as plainly shows that the rays of the excellent glory have fallen upon them before they have emerged from the dark valley. Oh let us follow their footsteps!

When the first tears of sorrow are wiped away from our eyes, through which it is difficult to see anything clearly, and the stupor or the tumult of the mind has subsided into the reflective silence of acquiescence—let us set their pattern before us, and learn what we ought to be, and what we ought to do. Let us, while the recollection of them is fresh, and before the tints of their picture are faded upon the memory—copy into our character all the excellences of their character. Let ours not only be a sorrowing, but an imitating love; assured that no remembrance of them is so honorable to their character, or would please them so well—if they could know it in their celestial sphere—as an attempt to resemble them, in all that is worthy of imitation.


8. Let us comply with their holy wishes, and their devout requests. One wish there was, not only cherished in the heart, but expressed with the dying accents of that dear saint who has recently departed from the midst of us, and that was, that her decease might be a dispensation of love to us, in the way of increasing our spiritual attainments. "Give my love to the church—that church I so much love. Tell them to be a pattern and example of holiness to all the churches around." How often, in the privacy and fellowship of grief and prayer in her sick chamber, have I wrestled for this. Amidst what tears and sobs have I implored that her approaching death, might be as life to the church. Shall it not be? Ought we to let so much spiritual wealth be taken from us, without endeavoring to make up the loss by an increase of our own piety? Members of my church, sheep of my flock, souls committed by the Holy Spirit to my spiritual oversight, let us all seek to have the dispensation sanctified for our spiritual good. Let the sepulcher of your pastor's wife unite with his pulpit, to give emphasis to the admonition, "Be holy in every detail of your lives!" You loved her, and you still honor her; gratify her dying wishes. The last wishes of dying friends, you know, and especially such wishes, of such a friend, are sacred—fulfill her parting request, and be a holy people. Let us seek a revival of true piety among us. Let each of us purpose to have the affliction eminently blessed to our own souls. Look regularly at her grave, from which she being dead yet speaks, and says, "Be a pattern of holiness to all the churches around." Be every heart her monument, and this her epitaph.

http://www.gracegems.org/



_________________
Mike Balog

 2007/2/16 8:12Profile
crsschk
Member



Joined: 2003/6/11
Posts: 9192
Santa Clara, CA

 Re: Death Awaits

Quote:
But, by degrees, the world which seemed dead, corrupted, and loathsome—recovers its life, its health, its attractions, and its power. Time abates the violence of grief; "by degrees new associations are formed, new projects are devised, new pleasures are pursued; the stream of reflection is diverted into other and far different channels; the heart plunges as deeply as ever into worldly hopes and fears; the fondness for what was lately pronounced vanity and vexation of spirit, is revived. Thus the tears shed for departed friends have been shed in vain, and they who were stricken by God and afflicted, hearken no longer to the voice of the rod, and reap no lasting fruit from correction.

It is wisely ordered, I know, that the poignancy of sorrow should be abated by the lapse of time, and that the mind by its elastic power should rise from beneath the first pressure of overwhelming calamity—or else death would smite with paralysis the whole framework of society. Still it must be confessed and lamented, that in too many cases the grief of the mourner is too evanescent, either for a just tribute to the memory of 'departed excellence', or for his own spiritual improvement. If departed spirits could be spectators of what is going on upon earth, and were susceptible of the frailties of their mortal sojourn, it would surprise and grieve them, in some cases, to see how soon the grass grows around their sepulcher, and the foot turns from it into another path! It would check our vanity and curb our expectations of posthumous honor and affection—to think how soon our names will be pronounced without a tear, and our history be forgotten amidst the new objects that rise to occupy our place!



[i][b]No![/b][/i] Fighting this mightily already. Already this world in it's mechanisms and vanity drawing off to [i]its self[/i]. A couple of days ago had put down these thoughts;

Yesterday, mixed; Confusion, conflicting emotions and when the night had drawn near, a touch, a sense of sadness. This morning, this writing ... Peace. Yes, the peace that passes all understanding. How gracious is the Lord to dictate His own seasons and times. Where it seemed somewhat elusive, it was there, a backdrop, hidden, mingled and yet the motions of the reality being faced left to do their great work. To experience and think, to ponder it all, to take in lasting moments and memories now forever etched I pray.

Death. The sheer clarity it brings. The senses are enlightened. A new boldness and courage over things that formerly might have caused inner conflicts. Fear of man. The peculiar, actual fear of divulging the faith that drives us. It seems rampant enough to make the generalization. Would have to admit my own difficulties in this, strange as they are, reasons being so much more a misrepresentation, despite all that I might understand of the Lord. The great commission being peddled and marketed and made something other, a pitch, a sales pitch at that. "Say this", "Hold this reasoning", "Tote this creed, concept, tag line, denomination". It is all so bankrupt mostly, worthless, ineffectual ... harmful. These things I cannot do with any right conscience, more so without a violent reaction against the falsity and insincerity of it all.

"What is a Christian"? The how, how does one become a Christian. This nobility. This great honor, this mantle that has largely lost it's true dignity. It gained and built it's own foundation on the very blood and deaths of martyrs. Jesus, Jesus who Christianity is. Our great High Priest, Saviour, Lord. There is no other Name. All things to and for Him. These who loved not their lives to the death, following their Lord, despise and smitten, afflicted, murdered, martyred, killed by the very ones He came to give LIFE.

Death. Death has gone missing from our sincerity. Washed over, sidelined, put out of sight until the occasion brings it's reality. It has been my ever drawing to it's mysteries, to it's high moment, to it's very force of argument. Eternal realities, why will we not have them Christan? How many times will we hear the explanation of being tethered to this earth and it's vast machinations, it's sheer vanity, it's displaced priorities. The very things that even the saints argue about, divide over, controversies and extended emotional energy, the damage and peculiar overlooking of glaring omissions in our character and conduct. Death awaits! Why not put this in all our witnessing and preaching and pleading, from the heart, from the gut, from the very spirit and makeup of our being. Reality, honesty demands it does it not? In Spirit and Truth. Will we ever, truly get this to become what we are over something we hold to?

Death. It is beauty for the saved and horror for the lost. Think it not so? The fool says there is no God. And death decides. Your unknown is the very fear that ought to awaken your sleeping conscience that is tethered to the here and now. Think on it. Ponder it deeply to it's ultimate and final conclusion. Christian, you as well. Nothing is morbid about death other than to continue on in denying it's inevitableness, that is the high morbidity, pretense and denial, some other day.

Through these days past have thought it wise to put down all things that I can as a record, something to come back to, especially after a comment from my Step-son. Perhaps too young in his development to face these things and I have both an understanding and yet a plea, a prayer that he to will come to face it more fully, in fact, the shrinking back that many have on this deep dark open secret is not entirely lost on him. He came across a quote that he brought forth from memory;

[i]The greatest fear of death is that soon everything will go back to normal.[/i]

That may be something of a paraphrase but, yes! Yes indeed. It certainly doesn't tell the whole story but it struck me with it's own profundity. It is why I am taking this all down for future considerations. I do not want things to go back to "normal", curse the thought! We are always 'forgetting' the most important things, this distracted life of duties and business must go on, of course. But where did we ever get such displaced priorities? No. No. No. A thousand times no. Some rising flame of emotion and import due to it's proximity? Again no. Oh that this cleared palate and heightened sense of pure clarity would burn continually. Etch it into the fiber of my being Oh Lord.

And you foolish man Mr. Balog have you come back to look upon your own words now this day in the future? Eat your words again brother! Humble yourself I pray. Recall all the things, all the moments, your precious wife kneeling in prayer before your mothers open grave. Recall the love shown you and all through these days. Recall the very dignity carried by your co-worker who you hardly know, present at both the funeral and the grave site. Recall your own words spoken before family, neighbors, loved ones, strangers. You gave great honor and dignity to your mother and to the Lord Jesus. Remember that and recall your unworthiness again this day despite all these things, lest pride find it's sinister way in.


_________________
Mike Balog

 2007/2/16 8:13Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re: Death awaits

More on death...


When we gaze upon the lifeless corpse

(J. C. Philpot, "Light Affliction and Eternal Glory" 1857)

From the cradle to the coffin, affliction and sorrow are
the appointed lot of man. He comes into the world with
a wailing cry, and he often leaves it with an agonizing
groan! Rightly is this earth called "a valley of tears," for
it is wet with them in infancy, youth, manhood, and old
age. In every land, in every climate, scenes of misery
and wretchedness everywhere meet the eye, besides
those deeper griefs and heart-rending sorrows which lie
concealed from all observation. So that we may well say
of the life of man that, like Ezekiel's scroll, it is "written
with lamentations, and mourning and woe."

But this is not all. The scene does not end here!

We see up to death, but we do not see beyond death.

To see a man die without Christ is like standing
at a distance, and seeing a man fall from a lofty
cliff—we see him fall, but we do not see the crash
on the rocks below.

So we see an unsaved man die, but when we gaze
upon the lifeless corpse, we do not see how his soul
falls with a mighty crash upon the rock of God's eternal
justice! When his temporal trials come to a close, his
eternal sorrows only begin! After weeks or months of
sickness and pain, the pale, cold face may lie in calm
repose under the coffin lid; when the soul is only just
entering upon an eternity of woe!

But is it all thus dark and gloomy both in life and death?
Is heaven always hung with a canopy of black? Are there
no beams of light, no rays of gladness, that shine through
these dark clouds of affliction, misery, and woe that are
spread over the human race?

Yes! there is one point in this dark scene out of which
beams of light and rays of glory shine! "God did not
appoint us to suffer wrath, but to receive salvation
through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Thessalonians 5:9
¨

-------------------------------------------------



All men will persist in thinking all men mortal but themselves.

If there were a great monster in the city of London,
which every day ate ten of the inhabitants of London alive,
we should be dreadfully miserable, especially if we never
knew when it would be our turn to be eaten too.

If we were certain that it would eat all in London by-and-bye,
but would only eat ten in a week, we should all tremble
as we passed by the huge monster's den, and say-
"When will it be my time?" and that would cast a cloud over
the whole metropolis, blacker than its usual fog.

But here is a monster, DEATH, which devours its hundreds at
its meal; and with its iron tongue the funeral knell keeps
crying out for more;
its greedy and insatiable throat never being filled;
its teeth never being blunted;
its ravenous hunger never being stayed.

And here we are, and though it will be our turn by-and-bye
to be devoured of this great monster, yet how little do we
think about it!

All men will persist in thinking all men mortal but themselves.



-------------------------------------------------


These vile bodies of ours!

(Bonar, "Coming of the Perfect, Departure of the Imperfect")

"He will take these vile bodies of ours and change
them into glorious bodies like His own!" Phil. 3:21

Our bodies shared the ruin into which sin brought
our race. Mortality and corruption took possession
of them. They became subject to weariness, and
pain, and disease--in every organ and limb.

The one drop of poison coming from Adam's sin
has spread itself out and pervaded every part of us.
The whole head is sick, and the whole heart is faint.

We begin with pain--and we end with it.

Our flesh, from the cradle to the tomb, is feeble,
broken, ready to faint--the cause and the inlet
of a thousand sorrows! It is truly a frail body,
in which we groan, being burdened; a vile body,
needing such perpetual care, and food, and
medicine, and rest--yet, after all, incapable of
being preserved--which, in spite of all our
pamperings, is hastening on to the sick-bed,
and the separation from its guest, the soul.

But look beyond the tomb and see the glory!

This head shall ache no more! These hands and
feet shall be weary no more! This flesh shall throb
with anguish no more! God Himself shall wipe
away all tears from these eyes--and there shall
be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying!

"He will take these vile bodies of ours and change
them into glorious bodies like His own!" Phil. 3:21

"For our perishable earthly bodies must be transformed
into heavenly bodies that will never die!" 1 Cor. 15:53




-------------------------------------------------



We are no longer young

(Letters of J. C. Philpot)

"My life is but a breath." Job 7:7

"My life passes more swiftly than a runner.
It flees away, filled with tragedy." Job 9:25

My dear friend,
We are no longer young. Life is, as it were,
slipping from under our feet. It is a poor life
to live to sin, self, and the world--but it is
a blessed life to live unto the Lord.

I never expect to be free from trial, temptation,
pain, and suffering of one kind or another, while
in this valley of tears. It will be my mercy if these
things are sanctified to my soul's eternal good.

I cannot choose my own path, nor would I wish
to do so, as I am sure it would be a wrong one.

I desire to be led of the Lord Himself into the way
of peace, and truth, and righteousness--to walk in
His fear, live to His praise, and die in the sweet
experience of His love.

I have many enemies, but fear none so much as
myself. O may I be kept from all evil and all error,
and do the things which are pleasing in God's sight.

Our days are hastening away swifter than a runner.
Soon with us it will be time no longer, and therefore
how we should desire to live to the Lord, and not
to self!

Yours affectionately in the truth,
J. C. Philpot, June 20, 1861


-------------------------------------------------


How many more years will I live?

(John MacDuff, "Sunsets on the Hebrew Mountains")

The king said to Barzillai, "Come over with me and
stay with me in Jerusalem, and I will provide for you."
But Barzillai answered the king, "How many more
years will I live, that I should go up to Jerusalem
with the king?" 2 Samuel 19:33-34

PLEASURE, shaking in her hands her crowns,
cries, "Come over with me!"

MAMMON, clinking his bags of gold, cries,
"Come over with me!"

AMBITION, pointing to the hazy mountaintop,
and her coveted palace gleaming in the sun,
cries, "Come over with me!"

The day will come when these things will yield
no pleasure; when they shall be seen in their
true light, as the empty baubles of an hour!

Oh, what though you may have all that now
caters to the pride of life . . .
affluence,
prosperity,
success in business,
"gaining the whole world;" are you imperilling
or impoverishing your immortal soul?


But Barzillai answered the king, "How many
more years will I live, that I should go up to
Jerusalem with the king?" 2 Samuel 19:34

What a solemn question for us all, amid the daily
occurring proofs of our frailty and mortality. Oh,
what a motto to bear about with us continually
amid the wear and tear of life!

YOUNG MAN! with the flash of young hope in your
eye; existence extending in interminable vista before
you; pause ever and always on the enchanted highway,
and put the solemn question to yourself, "How many
more years will I live?"

MAN OF BUSINESS! in availing yourself of new openings
in trade, accepting new responsibilities and anxieties,
involving yourself in new entanglements, have you
stopped at the threshold and probed yourself with
the question, "How many more years will I live?"

CHILD OF PLEASURE! plunging into the midst of
foolish excitement; the whirl of intoxicating gaiety;
have you ever, in returning, jaded, and weary, and
worn from the heated ballroom, flung yourself on your
pillow, and sunk into a feverish dream, with the question
haunting you, "How many more years will I live?"

FRUITLESS PROFESSOR! who, with the mere form of
godliness, are yet destitute of every practical active
Christian virtue; you who have lived a useless life.
Have you ever seriously pondered the question,
"How many more years will I live?"



_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/16 8:15Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re:

i must confess, that the older i get the more afraid of death i get, i know scriptural and so on i should not be afraid.... not in the sense that i don't know what awaits.. because i do know!

its not the things in the bible i don't understand that is the problem...the things i do understand is the thing that bother me.

when i was younger i didn't think about death, i jumped between buildings whit a deadly distance to the ground, back then i didn't value life, and death was something i never thought of.

now redeemed by his blood, i see that death is the first step into eternity, we are here one second on this planet, what do i do whit that second? because its going to end... and probably much much sooner then i planed it to do, maybe today? it is a reality this death..and the reality is it can come now...tomorrow..at any time...

we don't speak about it, we live our liefs as we will never die, we speak we talk we do all things .... but die that is something we will not speak about, we don't even want to think about it, Brother Mikes post got my thinking going,

not so much death scares me as the thought of what i did whit my life i was given... the only thing we can be certain of will after you are born is that you will die!

that God will open my eyes to this matter more, that i will see clearly the time i have left, that he would use my body in the manner it most pleases him this brief second I'm here on earth,

all my "big" problems and complaining disappear when i think of death...all the little things i spend so much time thinking of, use so much energy on...what are they worth when i look death in the face? when i stare into the abyss of eternity? do i live my life everyday as it was my last day alive? do live for the things i claim to believe in... death is a wakeup clock for me....

just my thoughts on death...


_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/16 9:05Profile
crsschk
Member



Joined: 2003/6/11
Posts: 9192
Santa Clara, CA

 Re: Death Awaits

Quote:
all my "big" problems and complaining disappear when i think of death...all the little things i spend so much time thinking of, use so much energy on...what are they worth when i look death in the face? when i stare into the abyss of eternity? do i live my life everyday as it was my last day alive? do live for the things i claim to believe in... death is a wakeup clock for me....



Precisely dear brother. This is the great leveler of all things. Our assumptions of others. Our frailties up against theirs. Our tightly held doctrines having the fingers pried open by this demanding factual reality. The big 'of course' in all this... Let me tell all here, I have learned some tremendous lessons in recent days, one of which is how actual you can separate ones theology from the person. In other words I can disagree and will likely continue to disagree with many a construct but will not allow that to determine or distinguish the person that is showing the same love and devotion to the same Lord, even beyond what has been shown me by that very true characteristic.

With this being such a constant as was mentioned prior to recent days to [i]feel[/i] the full force of it's reality ... Have often contemplated as I pass by a cemetery how I ought to be spending more time walking through there, praying, contemplating, humbling and sobering myself from all the things this world is drawing off of.

How this reality would make us far better saints, more effectual, real. Eternity minded as [i]fact[/i] not as something of a measuring up to, an elusive concept dislodged by a thousand every day practicalities. When it hit's close to home the perceptions have no other recourse than to submit and take their proper level of importance.

It is amazing to see just how much that seems of so much boasting, controversy, divisiveness, bitterness, pride all the ugly sins hidden behind displaced priorities are made sheer rubbish by this sobering reality.

For all that though there is also a different aspect that can come in when we reach this leveling point; A certain sweetness of spirit that is at peace and peaceful, a tension in sorrow laced with precious promise, bittersweet it can be.


_________________
Mike Balog

 2007/2/16 9:32Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re:

It is amazing to see just how much that seems of so much boasting, controversy, divisiveness, bitterness, pride all the ugly sins hidden behind displaced priorities are made sheer rubbish by this sobering reality.

For all that though there is also a different aspect that can come in when we reach this leveling point; A certain sweetness of spirit that is at peace and peaceful, a tension in sorrow laced with precious promise, bittersweet it can be.





amen brother


that God would give us a greater vision of time and eternity and greater understanding of these things


_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/16 14:39Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re: Death awaits

He who trifles with it is a fool!

(J. A. James, "The Practical Believer Delineated")

If the man who trembles at death is a coward; he who
trifles with it is a fool! There is a thousand times more
rationality in the trembler--than in the trifler!

There is a phenomenon in the rational world well
worthy of consideration, inquiry, and solution--the
strange and fatal insensibility of men to the grand
fact that they are mortal! Since it is infallibly certain
that they must and will die--and since death is so
solemn an event--how does it happen that so few
ever seriously think of it, or really prepare for it?

One would think that so grand and solemn a fact
as death, especially viewed in connection with the
events which are to immediately follow it--heaven,
hell and eternity--along with the uncertainty how
soon it may be realized--might operate with an
unlimited and altogether overpowering influence
upon men's minds and hearts!

But men wish to forget death!

They try to forget it--and alas, too often succeed
in accomplishing this fatal oblivion! Yet we can
scarcely wonder at this, when we consider what
is their spiritual condition--and what death is!

It is the commonness of death, which deprives it
of its extreme dreadfulness. If death happened in
our world only once in a century, it would be felt
like the shock of an earthquake; and would hush
the inhabitants of earth into a breathless silence,
while the echoes of the knell of the departed soul
were reverberating around the globe!

Death is . . .
the moment of destiny;
the seal of eternity;
the cessation of probation;
the commencement of retribution and judgment!

The antecedents of death are dreadful--so are
the accompaniments--so are the consequences!

To every sense--death is revolting!

To every social affection--death is crucifying!

To reason--death is perplexing!

To everything but saving faith--death is overwhelming


_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/17 9:24Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re:

Zeuxis died laughing at the picture of an old woman

(Thomas Brooks, "Apples of Gold" 1660)

And as the life of man is very short, so it is very uncertain.

Now well--now sick! Alive this hour--and dead the next!

Death does not always give warning beforehand; sometimes
he gives the mortal blow suddenly; he comes behind with his
dart, and strikes a man at the heart, before he says, "Have I
found you, O my enemy?"

Eutychus fell down dead suddenly, Acts 20:9.

Death suddenly arrested David's sons and Job's sons.

Zeuxis died laughing at the picture of an old
woman which he drew with his own hand!

Sophocles choked to death on the seed in a grape!

Diodorus the logician died for shame that he
could not answer a witty question.

Joannes Measius, preaching upon the raising of
the woman of Nain's son from the dead, within
three hours after died himself!

Ah! death is sudden in his approaches.

Nothing more sure than death!

Nothing more uncertain than life!

Though there is but one way to come into this
world--yet there is a thousand thousand ways
to be sent out of this world!

"Prepare to meet your God!" Amos 4:12


_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/17 9:25Profile
hmmhmm
Member



Joined: 2006/1/31
Posts: 4994
Sweden

 Re:

His icy hand?
"Generations come and generations go...." Ecc. 1:4

(David Harsha, "Come to the Savior")

We are all standing on the shores of time, and before
us stretches the unfathomable ocean of eternity.

To this vast abyss the millions of earth's inhabitants
are fast hastening. Every day that closes, every hour
that passes, every moment that flies, is bringing us
nearer to it. On its mighty surface every human being
must soon embark.

The grave is the home appointed for all living.

Everything passes away.

A great and mighty river, for ages and centuries,
has been rolling on, and sweeping away all that
ever lived, to the vast abyss of eternity.

From that unknown country none return.

On that devouring ocean, which has swallowed up
everything, no vestige appears of the things that were.

Death is the messenger that conducts us into the
invisible world; and this messenger may be very
near us.

One step more, and his icy hand may be laid upon us....
to remove us from our dearest friends on earth,
to dissolve all the attachments of life,
to hide from us all earthly scenes, and
to open to our view the solemn realities of an eternal world.

Standing on the Rock of Ages, the believer can
look down into the 'gloomy mansion of the grave'
with composure and even with triumph.

How blessed then to have the arms of Jesus, the
Conqueror of death, upholding our shrinking souls,
shielding us from all alarm, sweetening our passage
through the dark valley, and conducting us safely
through every tempest, and through every billow,
into the promised rest above!

To the Christian, death is an unspeakable advantage,
as it is the passage from the wilderness of this world,
to the heavenly Canaan.

Death is the entrance to our Father's house,
in which are the 'many mansions' of glory.

Death delivers him from all the evils incident to humanity.

Death terminates his period of discipline, toil, trial, and conflict.

Death brings him into a state of perfect holiness and
happiness before the throne of God in the highest heavens.

Death is numbered among the treasures of a Christian.

Death is his great gain. The last day of his
life is to him the opening of immortality.

As soon as death terminates the believer's
existence on earth, he enters upon the inheritance
of all those exceeding great and precious promises
which the Word of God holds forth to him.

He passes at once from the darkness of earth
to the light and glory of the celestial world.

He puts off the mortal body, for the home of God, that
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

He exchanges this valley of tears and death, for a
world from whose blissful mansions all sorrow flees
away, and where there shall be no more death.

"For we know that when this earthly tent we live
in is taken down; when we die and leave these bodies;
we will have a home in heaven, an eternal body made
for us by God himself and not by human hands." 2 Cor. 5:1

He departs to be with Christ; and oh, what
sincere follower of the adorable Redeemer,
who is now enthroned amid heaven's ineffable
glories, would not rather be absent from the
body, to be present with Him!

In the hour of death Christ will be your refuge.

His everlasting arms will be underneath you.

His rod and staff will comfort you.

He will be with you until the last; and you shall awake
amid the unutterable splendors of heaven, to be
forever with the Savior in mansions of light and felicity.

It is the glory of the Christian religion thus to
raise the soul above the fear of death. With him
all is calm and serene; for his sins are forgiven.
He has peace within; joy beams in his countenance.
His soul is delighted with joyful prospects beyond
the grave. He is filled with strong consolation.
The sweet thought of going to his heavenly home
now occupies his mind, elevating his views, and
cheering his spirit. He thinks of the glories of his
final rest; its fullness of joy; its blessed inhabitants;
its delightful employments; its never ending pleasures.
He feels, that while earth is passing from his view,
the portals of those blessed mansions of light are
opening for his entrance, and he knows, that in
yonder home of the redeemed he will die no more.

My heavenly home is bright and fair;
Nor pain, nor death can enter there.
Its glittering towers the sun outshine,
That heavenly mansion shall be mine!

My Father's house is built on high,
Far, far above the starry sky,
When from this earthly prison free,
That heavenly mansion mine shall be!

While here a stranger far from home,
Affliction's waves may round me foam;
And though like Lazarus, sick and poor,
My heavenly mansion is secure!

Let others seek a home below,
Which flames devour, or waves o'erflow,
Be mine the happier lot to own,
A heavenly mansion near the throne!

Then fail this earth, let stars decline,
And sun and moon refuse to shine;
All nature sink and cease to be,
This heavenly mansion stands for me!


_________________
CHRISTIAN

 2007/2/17 9:27Profile





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