2. "Death is yours." We had forgotten that; or we had not realized it. We had thought that we belonged to death, not death to us. We knew that we had some feeble hold upon life, but death was not thought to be a possession, desirable or undesirable. We had not added that to the catalogue of our wealth. We had never reckoned it among our treasures — among our resources. We had not realized that death is one of our opportunities.
If The writers of the Epistles make little or nothing of physical death. They bear two great points in mind, (1) our present standing, and (2) our ultimate standing in the day of the
1 Cambridge Medieval History, i. 96. 2 Susan Coolidge.
I COR. — 9
i3o YET POSSESSING ALL THINGS
Lord. We persist in walking by sight and esteeming this existence Life, and the end of this existence Death; whereas, rightly viewed, this existence is but a stage in mortality, and so-called Death a step onwards to the fulness of immortality. Each one of us is, as it were, a limb of God, with the potentiality of perfection, and gradually, through the experience of multiform error, to be developed into the full exercise of spontaneous and joyous activity.1
If There are two very striking engravings by a great, though somewhat unknown, artist, representing Death as the Destroyer, and Death as the Friend. In the one case he comes into a scene of wild revelry, and there at his feet lie stark and stiff corpses in their gay clothing and with garlands on their brows, and feasters and musicians are flying in terror from the cowled Skeleton. In the other he comes into a quiet church belfry, where an aged saint sits with folded arms and closed eyes, and an open Bible by his side, and endless peace upon the wearied face. The window is flung wide to the sunrise, and on its sill perches a bird that gives forth its morning song. The cowled figure has brought rest to the weary, and the glad dawning of a new life to the aged, and is a friend.2
Lo ! all thy glory gone !
God's masterpiece undone!
The last created and the first to fall;
The noblest, frailest, godliest of all.
Death seems the conqueror now,
And yet his victor thou:
The fatal shaft, its venom quench'd in thee,
A mortal raised to immortality.
Child of the humble sod,
Wed with the breath of God,
Descend! for with the lowest thou must lie —
Arise ! thou hast inherited the sky.3
(1) To the believer death is not a step into the dim unknown, but a step into a region lighted by Jesus. Death is not the end of something ; it is not an enemy that crushes us ; it is not a loss, a defeat, a calamity ; it is a possession, a weapon in our
1 R. W. Corbet, Letters from a Mystic of the Present Day, 20.
2 A. Maclaren. 8 John Banister Tabb.
i CORINTHIANS in. 21-23 131
armoury, an opportunity, a resource. It is not a putting off, but a putting on.
At end of Love, at end of Life, At end of Hope, at end of Strife, At end of all we cling to so — The sun is setting — must we go ?
At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life, At dawn of Peace that follows Strife, At dawn of all we long for so — The sun is rising — let us go.1
(2) Death is not the cessation of activity, but the introduction to nobler opportunities, and the endowment with nobler capacities of service. To become dead is an experience which is part of life. It is an experience in life's upgrowth and development. There are many whom we know, who always seem to have been thwarted; who seem to be disinherited; who do not seem to have come into their rightful place or possession. If we look at their lives, from the cradle to the certain grave, we cannot understand them. There seems no accomplishment ; there seems no real purpose ; there seems no achievement worth the travail. But we are not to look at any one, viewing him merely from the cradle to the grave. Death is our interpreter. It alone gives the true perspective; and when death comes to such as we have spoken of, it is seen to be the endowment of the disinherited. Life, its meaning, its purpose, its wealth, is for them beyond the grave. It is beyond the grave for all of us ; but it is clearly seen to be so for them. Death is the endowment of the disinherited.
If The shutters are drawn and the people talk in whispers and walk softly, an immortal soul is passing out of time into eternity. His has been a commonplace life, but he has been faithful, and now he has reached the end of the journey. The sunset has come and the shadows of evening are thickening. Between two worlds hangs the veil which separates time from eternity. On this side the veil it is a house of sorrow. Loved ones are in tears and speak to each other in broken sobs and cry out to God for comfort.
But on the other side of that thin veil the scene is far different. It is the hour of coronation. There are no tears, no