THE SLEEPER
"Our friend Lazarus sleeps."—The hopes and fears which
alternately rose and fell in the bosoms of the sisters, like the surges of
the ocean, are now at rest. Often and again, we may well believe, had they
gone, like the mother of Sisera, to the lattice to watch the return of the
messenger, or, what was better, to hail their expected Lord. Gazing on the
pale face at their side, and remembering that before now the tidings of his
illness must have reached Jesus, they may have even expected to witness the
power of a distant word—to behold the hues of returning health displacing
the ghastly symptoms of dissolution. But in vain! The curtain has fallen!
Their season of aching anxiety is at an end. Their worst fears are
realized—"Lazarus sleeps."
How calm, how tranquil that departure! Never did sun sink
so gently in its crimson couch—never did child, nestling in its mother's
bosom, close its eyes more sweetly!
"His summoned breath went forth as peacefully
As folds the spent rose when the day is done."
Befitting close to a calm and noiseless existence! It
would seem as if the guardian angels who had been hovering round his
death-pillow had well-near reached the gates of glory before the sorrowing
survivors discovered that the clay tabernacle was all that was left of a
"brother beloved!"
From the abrupt manner in which, in the course of the
narrative, our Lord makes the announcement to His disciples, we are almost
led to surmise that He did so at the very moment of the spirit's
dismissal—the Redeemer speaks while the eyelids are just closing, and the
emancipated soul is winging its arrowy flight up to the spirit-land!
Death a SLEEP!—How beautiful the image! Beautifully
true, and only true regarding the Christian. It is here where the true and
the false—Christianity and Paganism—meet together in impressive and
significant contrast. The one comes to the dark river with her pale, sickly
lamp. It refuses to burn—the damps dim and quench it. Philosophy
tries to discourse on death as a "stern necessity"—of the duty of passing
heroically into this mysterious, oblivion-world—taking with bold heart "the
leap in the dark," and confronting, as we best can, blended images of
annihilation and terror.
The Gospel takes us to the tomb, and shows us
Death vanquished, and the Grave spoiled. Death truly is in itself an
unwelcome messenger at our door. It is the dark event in this our earth—the
deepest of the many deep shadows of an otherwise fair creation—a cold,
cheerless avalanche lying at the heart of humanity, freezing up the gushing
fountains of joyous life. But the Gospel shines, and the cold iceberg melts.
The Sun of Righteousness effects what philosophy, with all its boasted
power, never could.
Jesus is the abolisher of Death. He has taken all
that is terrible from it. It is said of some venomous insects that when they
once inflict a sting, they are deprived of any future power to hurt. Death
left his envenomed sting in the body of the great Victim of Calvary. It was
thenceforward disarmed of its fearfulness! So complete, indeed, is the
Redeemer's victory over this last enemy, that He Himself speaks of it as no
longer a reality, but a shadow—a phantom-foe from which we
have nothing to dread. "Whoever believes in Me shall never die." "If a man
keeps My sayings, he shall never see death." These are an echo of the sweet
Psalmist's beautiful words, a transcript of his expressive figure when he
pictures the Dark Valley to the believer as the Valley of a "shadow." The
substance is removed! When the gaunt spirit meets him on the midnight
waters, he may, like the disciples at first, be led to "cry out for fear."
But a gentle voice of love and tenderness rebukes his dread, and calms his
misgivings—"It is I! do not be afraid!"
Yes, here is the wondrous secret of a calm departure—the
"sleep" of the believer in death. It is the name and presence of Jesus!
There may be many accompaniments of weakness and prostration, pain and
suffering, in that final conflict; the mind may be a wreck—memory may have
abdicated her seat—the loving salutation of friends may be returned only
with vacant looks, and the hand be unable to acknowledge the grasp of
affection—but there is strength in that presence, and music in that name to
dispel every disquieting, anxious thought. Clung to as a sheet-anchor in
life, He will never leave the soul in the hour of dissolution to the mercy
of the storm. Amid sinking nature, He is faithful who promised—"Lo, I am
with you always, even unto the end of the world." "You are with me!" says
Lady Powerscourt—"this is the rainbow of light thrown across the valley, for
there is no need of sun or moon where covenant-love illumines."
A Christian's death-bed! It is indeed "good to be there."
The man who has not to seek a living Savior at a dying hour, but who, long
having known His preciousness, loved His Word, valued His ordinances, sought
His presence by believing prayer, has now nothing to do but to die (to
sleep), and wake up in glory everlasting! "Oh! that all my brethren," were
among Rutherford's last words, "may know what a Master I have served, and
what peace I have this day. This night shall close the door, and put my
anchor within the veil." "This must be the chariot," said Helen Plumtre,
making use of Elijah's translation as descriptive of the believer's
death—"This must be the chariot; oh, how easy it is!" "Almost well," said
Richard Baxter, when asked on his deathbed how he did.
Yes! there is speechless eloquence in such a scene. The
figure of a quiet slumber is no hyperbole, but a sober verity. As the
gentle smile of a foretasted heaven is seen playing on the marble lips—the
rays gilding the mountain tops after the golden sun has gone down—what more
befitting reflection than this, "So gives He His beloved SLEEP!"
"Sweetly remembering that the parting sigh
Appoints His saints to slumber, not to die,
The starting tear we check—we kiss the rod,
And not to earth resign them, but to God."
Or shall we leave the death-chamber and visit the GRAVE?
Still it is a place of sleep; a bed of rest—a couch of tranquil repose—a
quiet dormitory "until the day breaks," and the night shadows of earth "flee
away." The dust slumbering there is precious because redeemed; the
angels of God have it in custody; they encamp round about it, waiting the
mandate to "gather the elect from the four winds of heaven—from the one end
of heaven to the other." Oh, wondrous day, when the long dishonored casket
shall be raised a "glorified body" to receive once more the immortal jewel,
polished and made fit for the Master's use!
See how Paul clings, in speaking of this glorious
resurrection period, to the expressive figure of his Lord before him—"Those
also who SLEEP in Jesus will God bring with Him!" Sleep in Jesus! His
saints fall asleep on their death-couch in His arms of infinite love. There
their spirits repose, until the body, "sown in corruption" shall be "raised
in incorruption," and both reunited in the day of His appearing, become "a
crown of glory in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of
their God."
Weeping mourner! Jesus dries your tears with the
encouraging assurance, "Your dead shall live; together with My body they
shall arise." Let your Lazarus "sleep on now and take his rest;" the time
will come when My voice shall be heard proclaiming, "Awake, and sing, you
who dwell in dust." "My lover said to me, 'Rise up, my beloved, my fair one,
and come away. For the winter is past, and the rain is over and gone. The
flowers are springing up, and the time of singing birds has come, even the
cooing of turtledoves. The fig trees are budding, and the grapevines are in
blossom. How delicious they smell! Yes, spring is here! Arise, my beloved,
my fair one, and come away.'" "Weep not! he is not dead, but sleeps. Soon
shall the day-dawn of glory streak the horizon, and then I shall go that I
may awake him out of sleep!"
Beautifully has it been said, "Dense as the gloom is
which hangs over the mouth of the sepulcher, it is the spot, above all
others, where the Gospel, if it enters, shines and triumphs. In the busy
sphere of life and health, it encounters an active antagonist—the world
confronts it, aims to obscure its glories, to deny its claims, to drown its
voice, to dispute its progress, to drive it from the ground it occupies. But
from the mouth of the grave the world retires; it shrinks from the contest
there; it leaves a clear and open space in which the Gospel can assert its
claims and unveil its glories without opposition or fear. There the infidel
and worldling look anxiously around—but the world has left them helpless,
and fled. There the Christian looks around, and lo! the angel of mercy is
standing close by his side. The Gospel kindles a torch which not only
irradiates the valley of the shadow of death, but throws a radiance into the
world beyond, and reveals it peopled with the sainted spirits of those who
have died in Jesus."
Reader! may this calm departure be yours and mine.
"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: They REST." All life's turmoil
and tossing is over; they are anchored in the quiet haven. Rest—but not the
rest of annihilation
"Grave! the guardian of our dust;
Grave! the treasury of the skies;
Every atom of your trust
Rests in hope again to rise!"
Let us seek to have the eye of faith fixed and centered
on Jesus now. It is that which alone can form a peaceful pillow in a
dying hour, and enable us to rise, superior to all its attendant terrors.
Look at that scene! The proto-martyr Stephen has a pillow of thorns
for his dying couch, showers of stones are hurled by infuriated murderers on
his guiltless head, yet, nevertheless, he "fell asleep." What was the secret
of that calmest of sunsets amid a blood-stained and storm-wreathed sky? The
eye of faith (if not of sight) pierced through those clouds of
darkness. Far above the courts of the material temple at whose base he lay,
he beheld, in the midst of the general assembly and Church of the First-born
of Heaven, "JESUS standing at the right hand of God." The vision of his Lord
was like a celestial lullaby stealing from the inner sanctuary. With Jesus,
his last sight on earth and his next in glory, he could "lay himself
down in peace and sleep," saying, in the words of the sweet singer of
Israel, "When I awake, I am still with You."
"It matters little at what hour of the day
The righteous falls asleep. Death cannot come
To him untimely who is fit to die.
The less of this cold world the more of heaven;
The briefer life, the earlier immortality." -Milman.
"Our friend Lazarus sleeps." This tells us that Christ
does not forget the dead. The dead often bury their dead, and remember
them no more. The name of their silent homes has passed into a proverb, "The
land of forgetfulness." But they are not forgotten by Jesus. That which
sunders and dislocates all other ties—wrenching brother from brother, sister
from sister, friend from friend—cannot separate us from the living, loving
heart on the throne of heaven. His is a friendship and love stronger than
death, and surviving death. While the language of earth is
"Friend after friend departs,
Who has not lost a friend?"
The emancipated spirit, as it wings its magnificent
flight among the ministering seraphim, can utter the challenge, "Who shall
separate me from the love of Christ?" The righteous are had with Him "in
everlasting remembrance." Their names "written among the living in
Jerusalem;" yes, "engraved on the palms of His hands."
One other thought—Jesus had at first kindly and
considerately disguised from His disciples the stern truth of Lazarus'
departure. "Our friend sleeps." "They thought that He had spoken of
taking of rest in sleep." They understood it as the indication of the
crisis-hour in sickness when the disease has spent itself, and is succeeded
by a balmy slumber—the presage of returning health; but now He says unto
them plainly, "Lazarus is dead." How gently He thus breaks the sad
news! And it is His method of dealing still.
He prepares His people for their hours of trial. He
does not lay upon them more than they are able to bear. He considers their
case—He teaches by slow and gradual discipline, leading on step by step;
staying His rough wind in the day of His east wind. As the Good Physician,
He metes out drop by drop in the bitter cup. As the Good Shepherd,
His is not rough driving, but gentle, guiding from pasture to pasture. "He
leads them out;" "He goes before them." He is Himself their sheltering
rock in the "dark and cloudy day." The sheep who are accustomed to
the hardships of the mountain, He leaves at times to wrestle with the storm;
but "the lambs" (the young, the faint, the weak, the weary) "He gathers in
His arms and carries in His bosom."
He speaks in gentle whispers. He uses the pleasing symbol
of quiet slumber before He speaks plainly about the mournful reality,
"Lazarus is dead." Truly "He knows our frame—He remembers that we are dust."
"Like as a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear
Him!"
But let us resume our narrative, and follow the journey
of the dead man's "Friend." It is a mighty task He has undertaken; to storm
the strong enemy in his own citadel, and roll back the barred gates! In
mingled majesty and tenderness He hastens to the bereft and
desolate home on this mission of power and love.
We left the sisters wondering at His mysterious delay.
Again and again had they imagined that at last they heard His tardy step, or
listened to His hand on the latch, or to the loving music of His longed-for
voice. But they are mistaken; it was only the beating of the vine-tendrils
on the lattice, or the footfall of the passer by. The Lord is still absent!
Their earnest and importunate heart-breathings are expressed by the
Psalmist—"O Lord our God, early do we seek You; our soul thirsts for You,
our flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see
Your power and Your glory, as we have seen You." Be still, afflicted ones!
He is coming! He will, however, let the cup of anguish be first filled to
the brim that He may manifest and magnify all the more the might of His
omnipotence, and the marvels of His compassion. The thirsty land is about to
become streams of water. The sky is at its darkest, when, lo! the rainbow
of love is seen spanning the firmament, and a shower of blessings is
about to fall on the "Home of Bethany!"