Remarks on Deathbed Exercises

Remarks on deathbed exercises, with several illustrative examples.

THE cases of religious experience at the close of life which have been presented. to the reader furnish much reason for encouragement and hope to the real Christian. We learn from them that death, however terrible to nature, may be completely divested of its terrors; that the Christian religion, when it has been cordially embraced, has power to sustain the soul in the last conflict; that the supplies of grace may be so rich and abundant that the bed of death may be the happiest situation which the child of God ever occupied, and his last hours the most comfortable of his whole life; that it is possible for such a flood ‘.?£ divine consolation to be poured into the soul that the pains of the body are scarcely felt, by which we may understand how it was that the martyrs could rejoice in the midst of flames and on the rack. We learn also that these blessed communications of the joy of the Holy Ghost are derived to the soul through the promises of God, and that all that is necessary to fill it with these divine consolations is a firm and lively faith. There is in all these ecstatic and triumphant feelings nothing miraculous, nothing different from the common mode of God’s dealing with his people, except in the degree. The things of eternity are more clearly apprehended, confidence in the promises is more unshaken, submission to the will of God is more unreserved, and gratitude for his goodness more fervent.

Another thing suggested by such happy death-bed exercises is, that the dying saint never entertained a more humble sense of his own unworthiness than during this season of the anticipation of the joys of heaven. These experiences, therefore, furnish strong evidence of the truth of the doctrines of grace; indeed, free grace is the predominant theme in the minds of these highly-favoured servants of God. It is also highly worthy of our marked attention that the Lord Jesus Christ is precious to the dying believer in proportion as his consolations abound. He attributes all that he enjoys or hopes for to this blessed Redeemer. And He who loved him and died for him is most faithful to his gracious promises at this trying moment. Now, when heart and flesh fail he will be the strength of their hearts. Now he enables them to say with confidence, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staflP, they comfort me.” Death is indeed a formidable enemy when armed with his envenomed sting, but when this sting is extracted death is harmless; death comes as a friend to release us from a body of sin and misery. “The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law;” but when the law has received a full satisfaction, and all sin is pardoned through the blood of Christ, the sting exists no longer. There is no condemnation to them who are in Christ Jesus. It is God that justifieth; who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died; yea, rather who is risen again. “Precious in the sight of God is the death of his saints.” The meek shall sing even on a dying bed. Here often the timid grow bold, the feeble strong. Here doubts and fears which harassed the weary pilgrim all the journey through are dismissed for ever, and that joyful assurance is realized which had long been ardently desired and hoped for. Where else but among real Christians do we witness such happy scenes at the near approach of death? Can the infidel point to any of his associates who could thus exult in the prospect of death? Can the man of the world exhibit anything like this? Alas! they are driven away from all they love; they may die stupidly; they may be under an awful, blinding delusion; but the positive joys of the believer they cannot experience.

Now, as we must all die, and that soon, ought we not to take all pains and use all possible diligence to be ready to die the death of the righteous? When that awful hour shall arrive worldly honours and worldly possessions will be nothing to us. Royal sceptres and crowns and treasures will be utterly unavailing; but the humble believer, however racked with pain of body, is safe in the hands of a kind Redeemer, who, having himself experienced the pangs of death, knows how to sympathize with and succour his beloved disciples when they are called to this last trial. He will not then forsake those whom he has supported through their whole pilgrimage. His everlasting arms of love and faithfulness will be placed underneath them, and he will bear them as on eagles’ wings. Truly, then, for them to die is gain! They rest from their labours — exchange darkness, sin and sorrow for perfect light, perfect purity and perfect felicity. Lift up your heads, then, ye servants of God, for the day of your redemption draweth nigh. The night is far spent, the day is at hand. With some of us it must be near the dawn. The darkness will soon be past for ever. Let us then rejoice in the hope of the glory of God, and wait till our salvation cometh. Now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.

But it may be asked, Do all real Christians die in such joy and triumph as those whose experience has been related? No; this is not pretended. Some, no doubt, die under a cloud, and go out of the world in distressing doubts respecting their eternal destiny. It is to guard against such an event that we would exhort all professors of religion — and include ourselves in the number — to begin in time to make preparation for death. Dear brethren, let us look well to the foundation of our hope; we cannot bestow too much pains and diligence in making our calling and election sure. We shall never regret on a deathbed that we were too much concerned to secure the salvation of our souls, or that we were too careful in making preparation for another world. Let us remember that our time on earth is short, and that whatever is done must be done quickly. There will be no opportunity of coming back to rectify what has been done amiss or to supply what is wanting. “Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.” Let us work while it is day, knowing that the dark night cometh when no man can work. Let us then awake to righteousness. Let us watch and be sober. Let us put on the armour of light, and especially let us see to it that we have on the wedding garment, else we shall never find admittance to the marriage supper of the Lamb. The only robe which can bear the scrutinizing inspection of the King is the perfect and spotless robe of Christ’s imputed righteousness. This will render us acceptable in the Beloved. With this we must put on the robe of inherent righteousness, for “without holiness no man shall see the Lord;” and these two, though distinct, are never separated. Only, the latter is never perfect until we come to the end of our course; and this single consideration should reconcile us to the thoughts of death, that then we shall be freed from all sin. Oh how blessed is that state where we shall see no more darkly through a glass, but face to face — where we shall know no more in part, but as we are known! Oh bright and delightful vision of the glory of

God in the face of Jesus Christ! Surely this is worth dying for.

But it may be asked, Is there not evidence of too much excitement in the experiences which have been narrated? May not a part at least of the elevated and exhilarated feelings be the effect of an accelerated circulation? People who die of pulmonary consumption are apt to be sanguine and to indulge buoyant hopes even in regard to recovery. In answer, I would say that this may be admitted to have some effect in increasing the degree of excitement, but it never can account for the bright views and unspeakable joys which some experience. And the truth is, we are poor judges of the degree of elevated excitement which the sense of God’s love will produce.

It must be confessed that while we may admire and breathe after such an elevated and triumphant state of mind as was experienced by those of whom some account has been given, yet we cannot so readily sympathize with such high emotions as with a more calm and deliberate frame of spirit. Indeed, it is here as in health: when we see persons much excited in regard to religion or anything else, we do not place such entire confidence in what they utter as when the same persons calmly and soberly express their sentiments. The reason is, that in all great excitements the imagination and feelings predominate over the judgment; and experience teaches that in all such cases there is a tendency to exaggeration and to the use of strong expressions; and it cannot be doubted that in some cases the religious exaltation experienced is somewhat delirious. The nervous system loses its tone, and although its agitations are violent, they are somewhat irregular and excessive, so as to produce an irrepressible thrilling through the soul. It is not wonderful that while the mysterious connection between soul and body is coming to an end there should be something in the emotions new and — in the looks, tones and gestures — out of the common way. This does not alter or vitiate the nature of the pious exercises of the soul, though it may modify them and give them a peculiar aspect and expression. If any person chooses to suppose that in some of the cases specified, while faith was triumphant and hope full of assurance, there might be superadded an exhilaration arising out of the peculiar state of the body, he will not have me objecting. The last exercises of that useful and devoted man, Jeremiah Evarts, were very remarkable for the degree of powerful excitement manifested; and the more remarkable because his mind was highly intellectual and very little subject to excitement, in common. Still it was well known to those intimate with him thai when he was aroused his feelings were very strong.

Often, officious friends and physicians are extremely averse to have anything said to their friends on the subject of religion when they are sick, lest it should disturb their minds and so increase the violence of the disease. I would not, it is true, admit every loquacious old man or woman into the chamber of a friend dangerously ill, but a discreet and pious counsellor is of great value at such a time. If the patient is hopefully pious, none can doubt the propriety and comfort of aiding such by holding forth to their view the rich promises of a faithful God. But even when the character of the sick is different, it often gives relief to have an opportunity of conversation with a pious friend or minister. Anxious feelings, pent up in the soul and finding no vent, are far more injurious than a free expression of them; and if the person is in danger of death, will you, can - you, be guilty of the cruelty of debarring him from the only opportunity of salvation which he may ever have? If you do, his blood will be found in your skirts. To show how erroneous the opinion is that religious conversation tends to injure the siok by increasing his disease, I will relate a fact which fell under my own observation. A young gentleman of fortune and liberal education had been for some months thinking seriously about his soul’s salvation, but the work had not come to any maturity, when by making too great an exertion of his bodily strength he ruptured a large blood-vessel in the lungs, and was brought to death’s door, not being able to speak above a low whisper. Having been a pupil of mine, I was permitted to see him, and upon asking the state of his mind he whispered in my ear that he was overwhelmed with the most awful darkness and terror; not one ray of light dawned upon his miserable soul. I prayed with him and presented to him a few gospel invitations and promises, and left him, never expecting to see him alive. Next day I called; the physician coming out of his room informed me that while they were waiting for his last breath a favourable change seemed unexpectedly to have taken place, and that he had revived a little. When I approached his bed he looked joyfully in my face, pressed my hand and said, “All is well; T have found peace. This morning, about the dawn, I had the most delightful view of Christ and of his ability and williugness to save me.” And upon inquiry I found that that was the moment when the favourable change took place in his symptoms. Faith and joy accomplished what no medicine could, and acted as a reviving cordial to his dying body. He so far recovered as to live a number of years afterward, though his lungs were never sound; and his consistent walk and conversation attested the reality of his change. He soon joined himself to the communion of the Church, and died in her communion.

While spending a summer in Germantown, near Philadelphia, I was sent for to visit a young man whom I had often seen. He did not belong to my charge, but two pious ladies who did were his friends, and had come out of the city to nurse him. He had a haemorrhage of the lungs which left little room to hope for recovery. As he was a mild and moral man, I did not know but that he might be a professor of religion; but upon asking him a question respecting his hope, he frankly told me that he had been skeptical for many years, and had no belief that the gospel was divine. I never felt more at a loss. The man was too weak to attend to argument, and if I could by reasoning convince him of hi& error it would not be a saving faith, and he must die before this process could be gone through. I found that his infidelity afforded him no comfort in a dying hour, and that he wished he could believe in Christ. It occurred to me that the word of God contained light and energy in itself, and that if he could not attend to the external evidences the beams of truth might shine in upon his soul, and thus generate a saving faith by the efficient aid of the Spirit. After pointing out the probable sources of his skepticism, I requested the ladies who were attending on him to read certain portions of the gospel to him as he could bear it, for he was very low. This was done; and next day when I came to see him he declared that his doubts were all scattered and that he had hope in Christ. Afterward he was never able to converse, but, as far as is known, died in hope.

I never saw any one approach death so deliberately and composedly as the late Rev. Robert Ray, pastor of the church of Freehold, in New Jersey. He had spent a winter at St. Augustine with the hope of restoring his health, but came home more diseased than before he went. His lungs were deeply affected, and he foresaw that his end was approaching. But as long as he was able to speak he caused himself to be carried to the church and to be assisted into the pulpit, where he would preach and exhort until his breath failed, when he would pant as if about to die, and then be conveyed home as he came. This was done not once or twice, but for many weeks; for he said as he must die he might as well die preaching; and he felt a strong desire to be the means of saving the people committed to his charge, and he hoped that a voice of affectionate warning from the grave might have the effect of awakening some of them. As he suffered but little acute pain, he appeared until his dying day as calm and cheerful as a man long absent from home would when the time came to return to his friends. He conversed as familiarly and composedly about his approaching change as if there was nothing formidable in it. Indeed, it had no terrors for him. For him to die was gain. Even when death was upon him, having observed some of his neighbours coming in, he said, “Well, you have come to see your pastor die.” He then remarked that his feelings were very peculiar, such as he had never experienced before; and without any perturbation of mind or bodily agony he gently fell asleep.

Wishing in these experiences of dying saints to give as great a variety as is compatible with my limits, I will now extract an account of the last illness of Mrs. Susan Huntington, of Boston, taken down by her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Wisner, after his visits to her sick room:

^’ Tuesday, October 28, 1823. — Called on Mrs. Huntington about half-past nine in the morning. Found that she had failed considerably since my last visit. To an inquiry respecting the state of her mind, she said, ‘I think I have felt more of the presence of Christ than when I saw you last. I have not had those strong views and joyful feelings with which I have sometimes been favoured. My mind is weak; I cannot direct and fix my thoughts as I once could. But I think I have fled for ^efuge to lay hold on the hope set before me in the precious gospel; and He who is the foundation of that hope will never forsake me.’ Then, with a most interesting expression of countenance, she said, ‘I trust we shall meet in heaven and spend an eternity in praising our dear Redeemer.’ ‘I feel,’ said she, ‘that I have been very, very unfaithful; Init he is merciful, his blood cleanseth from all sin, and I trust he has blotted out my sins from the book of his remembrance. Oh what should we do without Christ f ‘As much debtors to free grace at the end of our course as at the beginning, observed her pastor. ‘More, far more,’ she replied, ‘for we sin against greater light and love after we are born again. Yes, it is all free grace; if it were not, what would become of me?’ It was answered, * You would have perished — justly perished.” Yes,’ she replied; * what a glorious plan! what a precious Saviour! Oh that I could love him more! Pray that I may love and glorify him for ever!’

“On Friday, October 31, found her more comfortable. She said, ‘My mind has generally been in a peaceful frame since I saw you; but I want to realize the presence and preciousness of Christ more distinctly and constantly than my great weakness permits me to do.’ In answer to some remarks on the covenant of grace, she said, ‘Glorious covenant! precious promises! I have given myself and my body to Him in whom they are yea and amen, and I do not fear; I desire him to do with me as it shall please him.”

“Tuesday, November 3. — To the usual inquiry, she replied, ‘Mrs. Graham accurately describes my feelings when she says, “Thus far the Lord hath brought me through the wilderness, bearing, chastising, forgiving, restoring. I am near to Jordan’s flood. May my blessed High Priest and Ark of the Covenant lead on my staggering steps the little farther I have to go.“‘And on December 4 she breathed her last, in the faith and hope of the gospel.”

As in the preceding account of Mrs. Huntington mention is made of Mrs. Graham, of New York, it may be in place to give a few particulars of this wise woman, as she may properly be called, during her last illness. Foreseeing that her end was near, she sent for Mrs. Chrystie, a dear friend, between whom and herself an agreement had been made that whichever was first summoned away should be attended in her last moments by the other. To her son-in-law, Mr. Bethune, whom she saw standing by, she said, “My dear, dear son, I am going to leave you; I am going to my Saviour.” He answered, “I know that when you do go from us it will be to the Saviour; but, my dear mother, it may not be the Lord’s time now to call you to himself.” “Yes,” said she, “now is the time; and oh I could weep for sin!” Her words were accompanied with her tears. “Have you any doubts, then, my dear friend?” asked Mrs. Chrystie. “Oh no,” replied she, “I have no more doubt of going to my Saviour than if I were already in his arms. My guilt is all transferred. He has cancelled all my debt; yet I could weep for sins against so good a God. It seems to me there must be weeping even in heaven.” When her dear friend and pastor. Dr. Mason, came to see her, they had a very interesting interview, at the close which he inquired if there was anything, in particular, for which he should pray. She said, “The Lord will direct,” and immediately offered up this short prayer, “Lord, direct thy servant in prayer.” During her sickness she was for much of the time lethargic, and it was often difficult to arouse her. But when at any time waked up for a moment she would utter some sweet word, such as “Peace,” indicating the happy state of her mind. Dr. Mason, in his funeral sermon, said, ‘’ This may truly be called falling asleep in Jesus.” All terror seemed to be removed, and her countenance was placid and looked younger than before her illness. At a quarter-past twelve o’clock on the 27th of July, 1814, without a struggle or a groan, her spirit winged its flight from a mansion of clay to the realms of glory.