Part 120

§ 19. (III.) The next thing to be considered is, our unreasonable unwillingness to die that we may possess the saint's rest. We linger, like Lot in Sodom, till _the Lord, being merciful unto us_, doth pluck us away against our wills. I confess that death of itself is not desirable; but the soul's rest with God is, to which death is the common passage. Because we are apt to make light of this sin, let me set before you its nature and remedy in a variety of considerations. As for instance,—It has in it much infidelity. If we did but verily believe, that the promise of this glory is the word of God, and that God doth truly mean as he speaks, and is fully resolved to make it good; if we did verily believe, that there is indeed such blessedness prepared for believers; surely we should be as impatient of living, as we are now fearful of dying, and should think every day a year till our last day should come. Is it possible that we can truly believe, that death will remove us from misery to such glory, and yet be loth to die? If the doubts of our own interest in that glory make us fear, yet a true belief of the certainty and excellency of this rest would make us restless till our title to it be cleared. Though there is much faith and Christianity in our mouths, yet there is much infidelity and paganism in our hearts, which is the chief cause that we are so loth to die. It is also much owing to the coldness of our love. If we love our friend, we love his company; his presence is comfortable, his absence is painful, when he comes to us we entertain him with gladness; when he dies, we mourn, and usually over mourn. To be separated from a faithful friend, is like the rending a member from our body. And would not our desires after God be such, if we really loved him? Nay, should it not be much more than such, as he is above all friends most lovely? May the Lord teach us to look closely to our hearts, and take heed of self-deceit in this point! Whatever we pretend, if we love either father, mother, husband, wife, child, friend, wealth, or life itself more than Christ, we are yet _none of his_ sincere _disciples_. When it comes to the trial, the question will not be, who hath preached most, or heard most, or talked most; but, who hath loved most? Christ will not take sermons, prayers, fastings, no, nor the _giving our goods_, nor the _burning our bodies_, instead of love. And do we love him, and yet care not how long we are from him? Was it such a joy to Jacob to see the face of Joseph in Egypt? and shall we be contented without the sight of Christ in glory, and yet say we love him? I dare not conclude, that we have no love at all, when we are so loth to die; but I dare say, were our love more, we should die more willingly. If this holy flame were thoroughly kindled in our breasts, we should cry out with David, _As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God; when shall I come and appear before God?_—By our unwillingness to die, it appears we are little weary of sin. Did we take sin for the greatest evil, we should not be willing to have its company so long. "O foolish, sinful heart! Hast thou been so long _a cage of all unclean_ lusts, a fountain incessantly streaming forth the bitter waters of transgression, and art thou not yet weary? Wretched soul! Hast thou been so long wounded in all thy faculties, so grievously languishing in all thy performances, so fruitful a soil of all iniquities, and art thou not yet more weary? Wouldst thou still lie under thy imperfections? Hath thy sin proved so profitable a commodity, so necessary a companion, such a delightful employment, that thou dost so much dread the parting day? May not God justly grant thee thy wishes and seal thee a lease of thy desired distance from him, and _nail thy ears to these doors_ of misery, and exclude thee eternally from his glory?"—It shews that we are insensible of the vanity of the creature, when we are so loth to hear or think of a removal. "Ah foolish, wretched soul! doth every prisoner groan for freedom? and every slave desire his jubilee? and every sick man long for health? and every hungry man for food? and dost thou alone abhor deliverance? Doth the sailor wish to see the land? Doth the husbandman desire the harvest, and the laborer to receive his pay? Doth the traveller long to be at home, and the racer to win the prize, and the soldier to win the field? and art thou loth to see thy labors finished, and to receive the end of thy faith and sufferings? Have thy griefs been only dreams? If they were, yet methinks thou shouldst not be afraid of waking. Or is it not rather the world's delights that are all mere dreams and shadows? Or is the world become of late more kind? We may, at our peril, reconcile ourselves to the world, but it will never reconcile itself to us. O unworthy soul! who hadst rather dwell in this land of darkness, and wander in this barren wilderness, than be at rest with Jesus Christ! who hadst rather stay among the wolves, and daily suffer the scorpion's stings, than praise the Lord with the host of heaven!"