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C H SPURGEON AT A FUNERAL

This touching address was delivered by C H Spurgeon (in 1883), at Rye Lane Baptist Chapel, Peckham, at the funeral of Mr W Mills, a deacon at the Tabernacle.

FROM SWORD & TROWEL 2001 No 1

Beloved friends, and especially you who are mourners on this occasion, it is not difficult for me to sympathise very deeply with you, because in the departure of this dear brother, I am as great a loser as anyone alive. And let me say of my dear friends at the Tabernacle, associated with me in church work, that our communion is not one of a common kind.

Our brethren are at the house of prayer most days of the week; and, in the case of some of them, the service of God there occupies as much of their time as their own business receives; and in the case of others, even more. Their very heart and soul are there. If there are men not united by ties of blood, who nevertheless are most closely, intimately, and affectionately knit together, I am sure this may be said of myself and of all my dear brethren there.

When I heard of this second loss,[1] I thought that I should never be able to come to this funeral, for I felt so utterly cast down. But I am not so now. I have looked round to the other side of this grief a little, and I think that what I say this afternoon will help some others who are mourning today to look there too, that they may be able to bear their loss with a cheerful acquiescence in the will of God.

I thought to myself, ‘I know what I have been thinking concerning the deaths of these good men; but I must not think in lines parallel to those of an unbeliever.’

What does an unconverted man, who does not believe in Christ, think about death? If you were in the catacombs at Rome, you could tell when you were in the Christian part, and when you were in the heathen portion, because wherever there was a heathen buried you seem in imagination to hear howls of lamentation, because the inscriptions on the monuments are all full of grief that never can be assuaged, and of complaints against God.

But when you come where Christians are buried, you perceive at once the change of tone. It is, at least, always peaceful, and sometimes it is triumphant. It never can be right for a Christian to weep as though he were without hope, or as though he rebelled against a tyrant, instead of yielding to a Father.

Death has done us serious injury, doubtless. It is no small thing that the golden bowl should be broken, that the silver cord should be loosed, that the pitcher should be broken at the fountain, that the wheel should be broken at the cistern, that the windows should be darkened, that the grinders should cease, and that the dust should return to the earth as it was.

It is no small matter that a man should become a corpse, yet this is but the beginning of the end. This is but the digging out of the foundation for a costly and glorious superstructure. This is but putting away the worn-out vesture, in order that there may be brought forth the spotless robes of glory. This is but the refining pot, into which this body is put, and it shall come out of the crucible like gold seven times purified.

No, no; we must have no doubts, no fears, no gloom, no darkness about a Christian’s grave. Let us rather rejoice and be glad.

Next, I asked myself, if I may not think of these departed friends as an unconverted man would, how may I think of them? Shall I think as a half-believer does? The church of God today swarms with half-believers - with people who believe the creed as a creed, but not as a matter of fact. ‘I believe in the resurrection of the dead,’ say they; but do they believe it? Do they really accept that great truth? Have they made it a tangible reality to their own hearts? It is one thing to say, ‘I believe,’ but quite another thing to believe.

When you are a half-believer, death alarms you. You have the dread of something after death -

But it is all very hazy and misty to you. If you are a half-believer, the departure of your friend grievously distresses you. You believe that he is with God, but it is a phantom-like belief, that yields you no comfort.

The reality to you is the grief, not the resurrection. Death stares you in the face, but eternal life is behind your back. Now, it ill becomes a minister of the Gospel to be numbered among these half-believers. Equally, it ill becomes you, dear brethren, who have, many of you, from your youth up, fed upon the finest of the wheat, and been sustained with the incorruptible Word of God, to have the same views of death as half- believers have.

I thought within myself, also, how ought I to look at these things as a true believer? So, I said to myself, ‘I will see what my great favourite, John Bunyan, used to say about these things, and how he looked at them.’

When you get home, if you will turn to the second part of The Pilgrim’s Progress and read about Christiana crossing the river, you will have a great treat, and you will find such refreshment as I cannot give you.

How do you think that the pilgrims who dwelt in the Land of Beulah regarded death? Bunyan says that ‘all the noise of them that walked in the streets, was, "More pilgrims are come to town! More pilgrims are come to town!" ’

That was their great joy, that other pilgrims were coming where they were, on the borderland of Heaven. And then Bunyan goes on, ‘And another would answer, saying, "So many went over the water, and were let in at the golden gates today." ’

Yes, they spoke about death in that fashion. It was not at all a subject for sorrow; but in all the groves of Beulah Land they talked about the pilgrims who had crossed the water, and were let in at the golden gates. We are all weeping; but according to Bunyan the saints who have reached Beulah Land ought to be rejoicing as they hear of the pilgrims crossing the river.

You know what he says about the water of that river: ‘They thought that it tasted a little bitterish to the palate, but it proved sweeter when it was down.’ So, with great delight, they talked about the pilgrims going across the water, and being let in at the golden gates; and if you and I have full faith, we shall think with great joy of dear ones who have gone in to see the King in His beauty.

Instead of saying, ‘They are dead,’ we shall say, ‘They have gone beyond the reach of death now.’ Instead of saying, ‘We have lost them,’ we shall say that they have just preceded us a little while, but we are on the road, and we shall get home, too, and blessed shall be the day when we shall rejoin them in glory.

But how did those think of death who had to go across the water? Bunyan says that, when Mr Stand-fast was in the river, he said, ‘The waters, indeed, are to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold, yet the thought of what I am going to, and of the convoy that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart.’ He also said, ‘This river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it also have often frightened me. Now, methinks, I stand easy, my foot is fixed on that on which the feet of the priests that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel went over this Jordan.’

A little while before Christiana crossed over the water, a letter came to her from the celestial city, saying, ‘Hail, good woman! I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldest stand in His presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days.’

When the heavenly postman had read this letter to her, ‘he gave her therewith a sure token that he was a true messenger, come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was an arrow with a point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.’

Well, so it was with our brother Higgs. He had his ‘arrow, with a point sharpened with love,’ a year or more before, and there it lay until the time appointed for him to be gone. And our dear brother Mills had his loving token sent him some months ago, just to give him notice that the Master expected him soon; and of late he had great quietude from the cares of business. He ripened and mellowed in spirit very sweetly. The Lord was evidently getting His servant ready to cross over the stream.

Christiana did not look upon her departure with any regret; she took loving adieux of her children and all her friends and fellow-pilgrims. Neither did our dear brother Mills look forward to death with any kind of apprehension. When I sat and talked with him about his past life and about the world to come, our conversation was that of two men who were glad to have known each other, and would rejoice when either of the two entered into rest, and would be happy to meet each other again on the other side of the river.

As soon as Christiana received her token, she did what most Christian people do, she sent for her minister, whose name was Mr Great-heart, for he had helped her and her family on pilgrimage till they had come to the river. And what did Mr Great- heart say, when she told him that an arrow had entered into her heart? Did he sit down and cry with her? No, ‘he told her he was heartily glad of the news, and could have been glad had the post come for him.’ And, though I am not Mr Great-heart, I can truly say the same.

You and I should not dread this message, but even long for it, envying those who precede us into the presence of the Well-beloved, and get the first chance of leaning their heads upon that bosom from whence they shall never wish to lift them again, for therein they find joy and bliss for ever.

Remember how, when the pilgrims crossed over the water, poor Mr Ready-to-halt left his crutches behind him. Are you not glad of that, dear friend, you who have been ready-to-halt for years?

There was dear old Mr Feeble-mind, who said to Valiant-for-truth, ‘As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for that I shall have no need of it in the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrim; wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill.’

And then there was poor Mr Despondency, with his daughter Much- afraid, who crossed the stream together. ‘The last words of Mr Despondency were, "Farewell night, welcome day." ’

As for Miss Much-afraid, she went through the river singing, but nobody could make out quite what the words were; she seemed to be beyond the power of expressing her delight.

Oh, it is wonderful how these pilgrims do when they come to die! They may tremble while they live; but they do not tremble when they die. The weakest of them become the strongest then.

I have helped many pilgrims on the way, and among them some Mr Feeble-minds and Mr Fearings, and a very great worry have they been to me while on the road, but, at the end, either the river has been empty and they have gone over dry-shod, or else, when they have come to the very depths of it, they have played the man so well that I have been astounded.

I never imagined they could have been so brave. They have stumbled at a straw before; but in death they have climbed mountains. They have been the most weak, timid, sparrow-like people that you could meet with, and now they take to themselves eagles’ wings with which to fly away. Brothers and sisters, if you are in Christ, do not be afraid to die, for dying grace shall be given to you for your dying moments.

Come, then, dear brother-ministers, when we see that our people are soon going to die, we must not begin to dispirit them, but we must keep up our own courage, for we have to help other pilgrims on the road a little longer, and we have to fight Giant Grim for a few more of the women and children. We must be faithful in this our duty till our work is done.

Let us not be cast down at our friend’s departure; but let all of us who love the Lord say, ‘We could have wished the post had come to us.’

Now, once more, as I turned this subject over, I thought, What does our dear friend think about it now? I wish that he could give us his opinion. Ah! my brother, you are not in that coffin, else I would ask you. It is only poor clay that is left. What does he think of it?

What a glorious thing it must be to get out of the body, a body that has grown to be sixty years of age, and has been stricken with paralysis, and has been upon the verge of death for many a month. What a joy it must be to be quite clear of it!

We do not know what it is to be undressed of this body, but there must be a wonderful freshness to the unclothed spirit! And what must it be to be free from all doubts and fears, and all tendencies to sin, and to be absolutely perfect? And then, what must it be, in the midst of ten thousand times ten thousand kindred spirits, all joying and rejoicing in one common, glorious God, and in the Christ Whose life shall be the light that shines over all?

I warrant you that five minutes in Heaven is better than Methuselah’s life on earth, even if spent in the highest happiness that life here below can afford. Oh, how our brother Mills would chide us if he could look back, and see us weeping! How he would reprove us, and tell us that the best thing that could have happened to him had happened.

Last of all, it has cheered me most to imagine what the people up in Heaven would think about this subject. As we are going to be up there, too, we may as well begin to learn their fashions and their ways. What do you think they say in Heaven about our dear ones who fall asleep in Jesus? Why, the angels shall come to meet them!

Lazarus died, and was carried by angels into Abraham’s bosom, and that is what happens to all the saints. Bunyan says, ‘Now the day drew on, that Christiana must be gone. So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. But, behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots,’ for the angels of God came to meet her as she ‘entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had done before her.’

The angels do not come to mourn. I warrant you that there was not one of them who wept in meeting our brother. They stretched out their glittering hands and said, ‘Welcome, brother; welcome, brother! You have long been a pilgrim; now you shall rest for ever. Welcome to your eternal home!’

And what do you think the other saints up there thought of our brother’s death? Why, doubtless, they welcomed him with glad acclamations; and all through the golden streets they ran, and cried, ‘More pilgrims are come to town! More pilgrims are come to town! More redeemed ones have come home!’

And the Lord Jesus Christ smiled, and said, ‘Father, I thank Thee because those whom Thou hast given Me are with Me where I am.’ He welcomed them. And God the Father, too, was glad to greet them in glory.

Are you not all glad when your children come home? Are there people here who do not rejoice to see their boys and girls come back even for brief holidays? We like to hear their sweet voices, though they trouble us sometimes, but then they are our own children, our own offspring, and somehow, to our ears, there is no voice so sweet as theirs. Also to God, there is no music like the voices of His children.

The blessed Spirit, too, let us not forget Him. He delights to see the holy souls He formed anew, those with whom He strove, with whom He wrought so many years. As a workman rejoices over his perfected workmanship, so does the Spirit of God rejoice over those whom He has made to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light.

Wherefore, I counsel you, go to the grave with songs of gladness. Stand there, and if you drop a tear, let the smile of your gratitude to God light it up, and turn it to a gem; and then go home, each one of you, and wait until your own change comes.

As for myself, as I have often reminded you at the close of our joyous Sabbath services in the great congregation at the Tabernacle, so would I say again here -