C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“And if the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife, and my children; I will not go out free: Then his master shall bring him unto the judges; he shall also bring him to the door, or unto the door post; and his master shall bore his ear through with an aul; and he shall serve him for ever.”-Exodus 21:5, 6.

The slavery which existed amongst the ancient Jews was a very different thing from that which has disgraced humanity in modern times; and it ought also to be remembered that Moses did not institute slavery in any shape; the laws concerning it were made on purpose to repress it, to confine it within very narrow bounds, and ultimately to put an end to it. It was like the law of divorce: Moses found that law, and he knew that the people were so deeply rooted in it that it could not be forbidden; and therefore, as Jesus tells us, Moses, because of the hardness of their hearts, suffered them to put away their wives. And so, I may say, because of the hardness of their hearts he suffered them still to retain persons in servitude, but he made the laws very stringent, so as almost to prevent it. Among other repressive regulations, this was one, that when a slave ran away from his master it was contrary to law for any one to assist in sending him back again; and with such a law as that standing you can clearly see that nobody need remain a slave, since he could run away if he liked. It was nobody’s business-nay, it was a sin for anybody-to force him back again. Now, if a man can go when he likes, his slavery is a very different thing from that which still curses many parts of the earth. But the case stood thus. Sometimes persons who were insolvent, who could not pay, were compelled by the law to give their services to their creditors for a certain number of years, always limited, as you see in this case, to six. A man who had committed theft, instead of putting the country to the expense of a prison, was sometimes fined for his theft sevenfold; and if he had no money he was placed in servitude till he had bought himself free again, an institution not altogether indefensible, I think, and having a good deal of rough justice about it. Sometimes a person who was extremely poor would sell his services, for the six years which are here prescribed, to some wealthy person, who was bound to house him, clothe him, and feed him; very much like a system which still obtains in some parts of our own country, where a person’s services are hired for the year, with so much of nourishment to be given, and so much of wage. Well, the law here says that if a man should have sold himself, or by insolvency should have come to be sold to his master, at the end of six years he might go free. He was quite free to leave his master’s house and go whither he pleased. But it seems that the servitude was so exceedingly light, and, indeed, was so much for the benefit of the person in it, that frequently men would not go free. They preferred to continue as they were, servants to their masters. Now, as it was not desirable that this should often be the case, and as, if it were permitted, oppressive masters might sometimes frighten a servant into such an agreement, the law was made that in such a case the matter must be brought before the judges, and before them the man must say plainly-note that word-he must say it very distinctly and plainly, so that there was no doubt about it, that it really was his wish not to accept his liberty, but to remain as he was; and then, after he had stated his desire, and given as his reason that he loved his master, and loved the children, and the wife that he had obtained in his service, his ear was to be pierced against the door of the house. This ceremony was intended, to put a little difficulty in the way, that he might hesitate and say, “No, I won‘t agree to that,” and so might, as was most proper, go free. But if he agreed to that somewhat painful ceremony, and if he declared before the judges that it was his own act and deed, then he was to remain the servant of his chosen master as long as he lived.

We are going to use this as a type, and get some moral out of it, by God’s blessing. And the first use is this. Men are by nature the slaves of sin. Some are the slaves of drunkenness, some of lasciviousness, some of covetousness, some of sloth; but there are generally times in men’s lives when they have an opportunity of breaking loose. There will happen proyidential changes which take them away from old companions, and so give them a little hope of liberty, or there will come times of sickness, which take them away from temptation, and give them opportunities for thought. Above all, seasons will occur when conscience is set to work by the faithful preaching of the Word, and when the man pulls himself up, and questions his spirit thus:-“Which shall it be? I have been a servant of the devil, but here is an opportunity of getting free. Shall I give up this sin? Shall I pray God to give me grace to break right away, and become a new man; or shall I not?” Such a time may happen to some sinner here. I pray you, dear friend, do not slight it, because these times may not often come; and coming and being wilfully refused, they may never return to you. If you are resolved to be the slave of your passions, then your passions will indeed enslave you. If you are content to be a slave of the cup, you shall find that the cup will hold you by its fascinations as fast as captive in fetters of brass. If you are willing to be the slave of unbelief and of the pleasures of the flesh, you will find that they will fasten you as with bands of steel, and hold you down for ever. There are times when men might get free, their prison-door is for the moment on the latch. “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian,” cries Agrippa. Felix trembles, and resolves to hear more of this matter. Many others in the same condition have been all but free; but they have deliberately preferred to remain as they were, and the result has been that sin has bored their ear, and from that day forward they have seldom been troubled by conscience. They have sinned with impunity. The descending scale to hell has grown more and more rapid, and they have glided down it with ever-increasing pace. Have I not seen some such, for whom I hoped better things? The evil spirit went out of them and left them for a while; and oh, if grace had come and occupied the house, that evil spirit would never have returned; but they beckoned back that evil spirit, and he came with seven other devils more wicked than himself, and the last end of these once hopeful persons has become worse than the first. Slave of sin, will you be free? Your six years are up to-night. Will you be free? The Spirit of God will help you to break every chain; the Redeemer will snap your fetters: are you ready for liberty? Or does your heart deliberately choose to abide under the bondage of Satan? If so, take heed. That aul of habit may bore your ear, and then you will be beyond all hope of reformation, the victim of yourself, the slave of your sins, the idolater of your own belly, the abject menial of your own passions. “He that would be free himself must break the chain,” is the old saying, but I will improve it,-he that would be free must cry to Christ to break the chain; but if he would not have it broken, and hugs his bonds, then on his own head be his blood.

Christian man, the lesson to you is this. Since the servants of Satan love their master so well, how well ought you to love yours! and since they will cling to his service, even when it brings misery into their homes, disease into their bodies, aches into their heads, redness into their eyes, and poverty into their purses, oh, can you ever think of leaving your good and blessed Master, whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light? If they follow Satan into hell, surely you may well say-

“Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead,

I’ll follow where he goes.”

They are the willing servants of Satan; be ye, with more than equal ardour, the willing servants of Christ.

Our text reads us a second lesson, namely, this. In the forty-first Psalm, in the sixth verse, you will find the expression used by our Lord, or by David in prophecy personifying our Lord, “Mine ear hast thou opened,” or “Mine ear hast thou digged.” Jesus Christ is here, in all probability, speaking of himself as being for ever, for our sakes, the willing servant of God. Let us just dwell on that a moment. Ages ago, long ere the things which are seen had begun to exist, Jesus had entered into covenant with his Father that he would become the servant of servants for our sakes. All through the long ages he never started back from that compact. Though the Saviour knew the price of pardon was his blood, his pity ne’er withdrew, for his ear had been pierced. He had become for our sakes the lifelong servant of God. He loved his spouse, the church. He loved his dear sons, his children whom he foresaw when he looked through the future ages, and he would not go out free. Our insolvency had made us slaves, and Christ became a servant in our stead. When he came to Bethlehem’s manger, then it was that his ear was pierced indeed; for Paul quotes as a parallel expression-“A body hast thou prepared me.” He was bound to God’s service when he was found in fashion as a man, for then he “became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.” When he came to the waters of baptism at Jordan, and said, “Thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness,” then did he, as it were, go before the judges and say plainly that he loved the Master, whom he was bound to serve, loved his spouse, the church, and loved her little ones, and would for their sakes be a servant for ever. When he stood foot to foot with Satan in the wilderness the arch-fiend offered to him all the kingdoms of this world, and why did he not accept them? Because he preferred a cross to a crown, for his ear was bored. Afterwards the people, in the height of his popularity, offered him a crown, but he hid himself away from them. And why? Because he came to suffer, not to reign; his ear was bored for redemption’s work, and he was straitened until he had accomplished it. In the Garden, when the bloody sweat fell from his face, and he said, “If it be possible, let this cup pass from me,” why did he not put away that cup? If it had pleased him he might have applied for twelve legions of angels, and they would have come to the rescue; why did he not summon that celestial body-guard? Was it not because he had wholly surrendered himself to the service of our salvation? Before his judges he might have saved himself. Why did he not? One word when he was before Pilate would have broken the spell of prophecy, but why like a sheep before her shearers was he dumb? Why did he give his back to the smiters, and his cheeks to those that plucked off the hair? Why did he condescend to die, and actually upon the cross pour out his heart’s blood? It was all because he had undertaken for us, and he would go through. His ear was bored; he could not and he would not leave his dearly beloved church.

“Yea, said his love, for her I’ll go

Through all the depths of pain and woe;

And on the cross will even dare

The bitter pangs of death to bear.”

He would not accept deliverance though he might have done so. “He saved others, himself he could not save.”

Now, hear it, ye believers! If Jesus would not go free from his blessed undertaking, will you ever desire to go free from the service of his love? Since he pushed onwards till he said, “It is finished,” will not his love by God’s Holy Spirit inspire you to push forward till you can say, “I have finished my course, I have kept the faith“? Can you go back when Jesus goes before you? Can you think of retreating? Can desertion or apostasy be regarded by you with any other feelings than those of detestation when you see your Master bound to the gibbet of Calvary, to bleed to death and then to lie in the cold grave for your sakes? Will you not say, “Let my ear be bored to his service, even as his ear was digged for me”?

Let these observations stand as the preface for our sermon; for my discourse, though I will try to make it brief, deals with ourselves, in an earnest fashion. Brethren in Christ, I think I speak for all of you who love Jesus, when I say,-we are willing to undertake to-night perpetual service for Christ. To lead you all to renew your dedication I shall speak upon our choice of perpetual service, and our reasons for making that choice, and then I shall call you up, and try to pierce your ears with some one of certain sharp auls, which I have here ready for the purpose.

First, let us speak upon our choice of perpetual service.

The first thing is, we have the power to go free if we will. This is a very memorable night to me. Pardon my speaking of myself, I cannot help it. It is exactly twenty-four years this night that I put on the Lord Jesus Christ publicly in baptism, avowing myself to be his servant; and now at this present time I have served him four times six years, and I think he says to me, “You may go free if you will.” In effect he says the same to every one of you, “You may go free if you will, I will not hold you in unwilling servitude.” There are plenty of places you can go to; there are the world, the flesh, and the devil. For a master you may have either of these three if you choose. Jesus will not hold you against your will. Do you desire to go free, brethren, free from the yoke of Jesus? I can only speak for myself, and you may say “Amen” for yourselves if you wish, but not else. “Blessed be his name,” I never wish to be free from his dear yoke. Rather would I say:-

“Oh, to grace how great a debtor,

Daily I’m constrained to be!

Let that grace, Lord, like a fetter,

Bind my willing heart to thee.”

I will speak of him as I find: I wish to serve him not another four and twenty years, but four and twenty million years, yea, and for ever and for ever, for his yoke is easy and his burden is light. It is said of the Hebrews, “If they had been mindful of the country from which they came out, they had opportunity to return,” and so have we; but will we return to the land of destruction? Will we go back unto perdition? Will we renounce our Lord? No, by God’s grace it cannot be! We are bound for the land of Canaan, and to Canaan we will go. Wandering hearts we have, but grace still holds them fast, and our prayer is:-

“Prone to wander, Lord, we feel it,

Prone to leave the God we love;

Here’s our heart, Lord, take and seal it,

Seal it from thy courts above.”

Well, then, since we might go free if we would, but wish not to do so, we are willing to declare before the judges-that is, before the public here assembled to-night, who shall be our judges-that, though quite able to go free (we say it plainly and without stammering), we have not the remotest wish to do so. If the service of Christ has been a fetter, Lord, put on double fetters. If thy service has been a bond, Lord, tie us up hand and foot, for, to us, bondage to thee is the only perfect liberty. Yes, if it must be so, we will say it here,

“’Tis done! The great transaction’s done.

I am my Lord’s, and he is mine;

He drew me, and I followed on,

Charmed to obey the voice divine.”

And we will add the words,

“High heaven that heard the solemn vow,

That vow renewed shall daily hear,

Till in life’s latest hour we bow,

And bless in death a bond so dear.”

We are willing to say it publicly and plainly, and we are willing to take the consequences too. Are we? That is the question. If we mean to be Christ’s servants for ever, we must expect to have special troubles such as the world knows nothing of. The boring of our ear is a special pain, but both ears are ready for the aul. The Lord’s service involves peculiar trials, for he has told us, “Every branch that beareth fruit he purgeth it.” Are we willing to take the purging? What son is there whom his father chasteneth not? Are we willing to take the chastening? Yes, we would deliberately say, “Whatever it is, we will bear it, so long as the Lord will keep us and help us to remain faithful.” We dare not run away from his service, would not, could not: and nothing can drive us to abscond from his house or his work, for, exulting in persevering grace, we venture to say, “Who shall separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord?” We will bear the boring of the ear. Perhaps it will come in the shape of more reproach from men. Some of us have had a very fair share of that, and have been tolerably well abused up till now, but none of these things move us. Will there be more cruel mockings between here and heaven? No doubt there will. Then let them come and welcome. My solemn personal declaration at this hour is,-

“If on my face for thy dear name

Shame and reproach shall be,

I’ll hail reproach and welcome shame,

For thou’lt remember me.

Do you not say the same, beloved? Will you not serve Christ without any conditions, at all hazards? Will you not follow him through the mire and through the slough, and up the bleak side of the hill, and along the crest of the field where the battle rages most fiercely? Ay, that we will, if but grace be given: if the Holy Ghost will abide in us. Do you not desire to follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth? Do you shrink from the supreme sacrifice? Do you not long to abide faithful though all should forsake the truth? Yes, we desire perpetual servitude to Christ, and to bear whatever that involves. I speak the heart of every lover of Christ when I say, we do not want to serve Christ a little, we wish to serve him much; and the more he will give us to do the better we shall love him; ay, and the more he will give us to bear for his dear sake, if he will give us corresponding grace, the more will we rejoice. That is a great life which is greatly useful, or greatly suffering, or greatly laborious for Jesus Christ the Saviour. Do you not feel in your inmost souls that instead of wishing to be set free, you wish to plunge deeper into this blessed bondage,-to bear in your body the marks of the Lord Jesus, and to be his branded slaves for ever? Is not this the perfect freedom you desire?

So, then, there is the first point,-our choice of perpetual service.

A man ought to have a reason for so weighty a decision as this. We have served our Master now for four-and-twenty years and do not want to change, but should like to live with him and die with him and live for ever with him. We speak boldly on a very weighty business. What reasons can we give for such decided language?

Well, first, we can give some reasons connected with himself. The servant in our text who would not accept his liberty, said, “I love my Master.” Can we say that? I cannot feel content with merely saying it. It is true, true, true; but if I were to begin to talk of how I love him, or how I ought to love him, I should break down altogether to-night. Even now I choke with emotion. I can feel love in my heart, but my heart is too full for expression. Oh, what a blessed Master he is! Not love him? My whole nature heaves with affection for him. Who can help it? Look at his wounds, and you must love him, if you have been redeemed. Look at the great gash which reached his heart, whence flowed the water and the blood to be of your sin the double cure. Could you fail to love him? I mean him who died for you and bought you, not with silver and gold, but with his own pangs and griefs and bloody sweat and death. Leave him? O Saviour, let us not be such devils as to leave thee, for worse than demons should we be if we could apostatise from such a sweet Master as thou art!

We love our Master, for he has bought us and saved us from the miseries of hell. And we love him because there never was such a Master, so good, so tender, so royal, so inconceivably lovely, so altogether glorious. Our Lord is perfection’s self, and the whole universe cannot produce his equal. We cannot now praise the stars, for we have seen the sun. We could not take up with the mean things of earth, for the Lord of heaven has looked upon us, and one glance of his eyes has enamoured us of him for ever and for ever. Want to leave the service of Jesus? By no means. No such wish crosses our soul. Beloved, I am sure you have no desire to change masters; have you? Are you not abundantly well pleased with his treatment of you? When a servant comes up from the country to take a situation in town, if he goes back to the village, his old friends come round him, and they say, “Well, John, how did you find the service? Did your master treat you well? Was the work very hard? Were you well fed and well clothed?” Now, Christian people, I am not going to talk for you, but you shall talk for yourselves, to your friends and kinsfolk, and answer for yourselves their various questions. If you can find any fault with Jesus tell them of it. Say whether he has ever treated you badly, and, if he has, report it to all the world. Do not allow any to be led into a bad service if you have found it to be such. As for me, there was never a worse servant, but never servant had a better master than I have. He has borne with my ill manners, and treated, me like one of his own family. I have been at times a dead weight to his household, but he has never given me a rough word. “My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” To-night I must, even though I be thought egotistical, speak of his lovingkindness towards me. Twenty-four years ago I was a lad in jackets, and I walked into the open river on a cold May day to be baptised into the name of Jesus as timid and timorous a youth as you well might see; but when I rose from that water the fear of man was gone from my mind, I hope never to return. For the first time that night I prayed at the prayer-meeting, and this tongue has never since ceased to talk of his dear love-

“Ere since by faith I saw the stream

His flowing wounds supply,

Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall be till I die.”

Now see what my Lord has done for me! If any one had said to me, “Twenty-four years from this time you will preach to a vast crowd, and will have spiritual children whose number cannot be told,” I never could have believed it. It would have seemed impossible that such a thing could be. Yet so it is. His right hand has done for me wonderful things, and my heart reverently extols him. Glory be unto his name for ever and for evermore. Leave my Master! Grant, O glorious Lord, that no such base and loathsome thought may even alight upon my breast. No, dear Master, I am thine for ever, let me kiss thy feet again, and be for ever bound to thee by new cords of love.

Well, my brother, the Lord has treated you kindly, has he not? Come, speak for yourselves. You could rise and tell stories, in their own way, equally as remarkable as mine, and you could wind each one up by saying, “I love my Master. I cannot but love him.”

The servant in our text, who would not go free, plainly declared that he loved his wife, so that there are reasons connected not only with his Master, but with those in his Master’s house, which detain each servant of Jesus in happy bondage. Beloved, some of us could not leave Jesus, not only because of what he is, but because of some that are very dear to us who are in his service. How could I leave my mother’s God? How could I leave my father’s God, my grandfather’s God, my great-grandfather’s God? My brother, how could I leave your God, to be separated from you, whom I have loved so long, so well?* Husband, tender and affectionate, could you leave your wife’s God? Wife, could you forsake the God of those dear babes in heaven? They are resting there on the breast of Jesus, and you hope to see them soon, do you not love Jesus for the sake of those who once nestled in your bosom? Ay, and it is not merely earthly relationship that binds us thus, but we love all the people of God, because of our relationship in Christ. Truly we can say of his church, “Here my best friends, my kindred dwell.” Some of the dearest associations we have ever formed commenced at the foot of the cross. Our best friends are those with whom we go up to the house of God in company. Why, most of the friends that some of us have on earth we won through our being one in Jesus Christ; and we mean to stand fast for the grand old cause, and the old gospel, for the sake not only of Christ but of his people.

“Now, for my friends and brethren’s sake,

Peace be in thee, I’ll say;

And for the sake of God our Lord

I’ll seek thy good alway”

“Because I love my wife and my children,” says the man, “I cannot go out free.” And so say we.

Besides, let me add, there are some of us who must keep to Christ, because we have children in his family whom we could not leave,-dear ones who first learned of Christ from us. Many in this place were first led to the Lord by our teaching, and by our prayers. We could not run away from them, their loving prayers hold us fast. In them the Lord has hold upon us by new ties. You do not find a woman leave her husband, as a rule, when there are seven or eight little children at home; no, and no man can leave Christ who has been spiritually fruitful; the seals of his ministry seal anew the indentures which bind him to his Lord. The successful pastor will be kept faithful; he must stand fast by the church, and by the church’s Head, when there are children begotten unto him by the power of the Holy Ghost through faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There are reasons also why we cannot forsake our Lord which arise out of ourselves; and the first is that reason which Peter felt to be so powerful. The Master said, “Will ye also go away?” Peter answered by another question. He said, “Lord, to whom shall we go?” Ah, Christian, there is no way for you but to go straight on to heaven, for where would you go? Where could you go else? Some of us are so thoroughly identified with Jesus and his gospel that the world would have nothing to do with us if we were to ask its friendship. We are committed too much to our Master ever to reckon upon receiving love and friendship from his foes. We have given the world too many slaps in the face to be forgiven by it. We have crossed the Rubicon, and there remains nothing for us but victory or death. Where could a poor wretch hide, who has been a well-known minister of the gospel, should he apostatise? Where could he dwell? Should he journey to the ends of the earth some would remember his name and say, “Hast thou apostatised?” In the remotest regions of the globe some would jeeringly say to him, “Hast thou fallen, hast thou gone aside?” Where could we go, then? We must cleave to Christ. It is of necessity we must.

And why should we go? Come, brethren, can you find any reason why we should leave Jesus Christ? Can you imagine one? As my imaginative faculty is not strong enough I will not attempt it. I can see a million reasons for cleaving to him, but not a pretence of a reason for leaving him.

And when should we leave him, if we must leave him? Leave him while we are young? It is then that we need him to be the guide of our youth. Leave him when we are in middle life? Why, then it is we want him to help us to bear our cross, lest we sink under our daily load. Leave him in old age? Ah, no! It is then we require him to cheer our declining hours. Leave him in life? How could we live without him? Leave him in death? How could we die without him? No, we must cling to him: we must follow him whithersoever he goeth.

These are a few of the reasons why we would be his servants for ever.

Do you mean to be bound for life? Christians, do you really mean it? Come, sit ye down and count the cost, and, if ye mean it, come and welcome! There is the standard! The blood-red cross waves at the top of it, will you now in cool blood enlist for life? Every man who wishes to desert may go home. Christ wants no press-men. Ho, ye volunteers! Come hither! We want you, and none but you. The Lord desires no slaves to dishonour his camp. Cowards, you may go! Double-minded men, ye may get to your tents! But what say you, ye true believers? Will you cleave to him and his cause? Do you leap forward and say, “Never can we separate from Jesus: we give ourselves to him for life, for death, for time, and for eternity. We are his altogether and for ever”? Come, then, and have your ears bored.

And, first, let them be bored with the sharp aul of the Saviour’s sufferings. No story wrings a Christian’s heart with such anguish as the griefs and woes of Christ. We preached the other morning upon the crown of thorns, and it was our task to bring before you the different items of our Saviour’s griefs; now, whenever you are hearing about him, you ought to say within yourself, “Ah, he is piercing my ear, he is fastening me to his cross, he is marking me for himself, I cannot forsake my bleeding Lord. His wounds attract me. I fly to him afresh. When the world would fain draw me off from Jesus, I find a central force drawing me back to his dear heart. I must be Christ’s. His sufferings have won me. The bleeding Lamb enthralls me. I am his, and his for ever.” That is one way of marking the ear.

Next, let your ear be fastened by the truth, so that you are determined to hear only the gospel. The gospel ought to monopolise the believer’s ear. Some professors can hear any stuff in all the world if it is prettily put, and so long as the man is a “clever” man (I think that is the word). When they hear a preacher of whom they can say, “He is very clever, very clever!” they appear perfectly satisfied, whether the man’s doctrine is good or bad. Now is not this foolishness? What does it matter about a man’s being clever? The devil is clever; and every great thief is clever. There is nothing in cleverness to gain the approval of a spiritual mind. I pray God to give every one of you an ear that will not hear false doctrine. I do not think we ought to blame a man who gets up and goes out of a place of worship when he hears the truth of God denied; I think we ought far rather to commend him. There is a great deal of that soft, willow-pattern style of man about now-a-days. Let a man talk loudly and prettily, and many hearers will believe anything he says. Dear brethren, we must have discernment, or we shall be found aiding and abetting error. “My sheep,” says Christ, “hear my voice, and a stranger will they not follow, for they know not the voice of strangers.” Now, if you mean to be Christ’s for ever, you must not allow that ear of yours to hear bad doctrine. You must take care that, knowing the truth, you hold to it, and renounce every false way. Do not make your ear a common sewer, into which foul doctrine may be poured, in the hope that afterwards Jesus Christ may make it clean again. “Take care what ye hear” is one of the precepts of infinite wisdom; and let it not fail to impress your souls.

Furthermore, if you really give yourself to Christ, you must have your ear opened to hear and obey he whispers of the Spirit of God, so that you yield to his teaching, and to his teaching only. I am afraid some Christians give their ears to an eminent preacher, and follow him whichever way he goes, very much to their own injury. The right thing is to yield to the Spirit of God. Which way the Scripture goes-that is the way for you to go; and though we, or an angel from heaven, preach to you any other gospel than what this sacred book contains-though I trust we may not be accursed if we do it in ignorance-yet, certainly, you will be accursed if, knowing it to be wrong, you follow us in preference to following the Lord. Let your ear be open to the faintest monitions of the Holy Spirit. There would be an end to all the sects and divisions in the church if all Christians were willing to do what the Holy Spirit tells them. Alas! there are many people who do not want to know too much of the mind of God. What the Bible says is no great concern of theirs, because, perhaps, that may not say quite the same thing as the Prayer Book, and they had rather not be disturbed in their minds. Perhaps the Bible may not confirm all the doctrines of their sect, and therefore they leave it unread, for they had rather not be perplexed. Oh, brethren, let names, and parties, and prayer-books, and catechisms, and everything else go to the dogs sooner than one word of Jesus shall be neglected. Let us give ourselves up to the Spirit of God and to the teaching of his own Word, for as Christ’s servants our ears have been pierced. Your ear has thus been bored with three auls, and none of them has pained you.

Many young women have had their ears pierced; I do not know whether it hurt them or not. I do not suppose that the operation described in the text pained the man much, though there was a little blood lost, perhaps, when the aul went through the lobe of the ear. I will tell you what some would do with their ears if they were pierced; I would not do it with mine, but an oriental would be sure to do it. What would he do? Why, put a ring in it, and hang it with ornaments. When a Christian man has his ears bored to belong to Christ for ever and ever, God will be sure to put a jewel in it for him. And what jewels ought to hang in the Christian’s ear? Why, the jewel of obedience. Practise the doctrine which your ear has heard. Then there would follow the diamond of joy; the ear which belongs wholly to Jesus will be sure to be adorned with the jewel of the Spirit, which is joy. If we give our heart up to Christ he will hang in our ear many costly gems of knowledge,-we shall know the deep things of God when we are willing to learn them. The ear being pierced, we shall sit like children at Jesu’s feet and learn of him; and rubies and emeralds and pearls, such as deep-sea fisheries never knew, shall belong to us; and our ear will be hung with the priceless gem of “quickness of understanding in the fear of the Lord.” “He wakeneth me morning by morning; he opened my ear to hear as the learned.” There, too, will hang that precious gem of separation from the world. The distinguishing mark of “Holiness unto the Lord” will be in the Christian’s ear like a precious jewel of inestimable price. When they were selling the Duke of Brunswick’s gems the other day, they found that ever so many of them were not what they were supposed to be; he had guarded them with great care, and scarcely had enjoyed a happy hour in his great anxiety for his valuables, and yet some of them were not worth the keeping. If you will give yourself to Christ, and if your ear be bored, these precious graces which I have mentioned will be pearls of exceeding great price, such as angels might envy you the wearing of. There, young women, put these jewels in your ears, and nobody will blame you for wearing such goodly ornaments. There, good man, you also may go with rings in your ears if these are the rings and these are the gems, and you will not be thought foppish and singular. May the Lord give them to you. As you come to the communion table, come with this feeling: “I am going there to renew my covenant, I have been a Christian these many years, I love my Lord better than ever I did, and I will, therefore, dedicate myself to him again.”

And now, you unconverted people, do you think I have spoken the truth? If my Master had behaved badly to me I would have run away from him long ago; I would not stand here to tell you that he was a good Master if he were not; but, since he is so good, oh that you would say, “I would like to be in his service.” Have you such a desire? then, dear heart, remember his own words, “Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.” If thou art willing to be his, he is willing to have thee. He is so great a Prince that he can maintain an endless company of servants without embarrassing himself. There was never a soul that wanted Christ but what Christ wanted that soul. Depend upon it, if you go to him he will enrol you among his household retainers, and allot you an honourable portion day by day. Seeking sinner, believe in Jesus and live. God grant you grace for Christ’s sake! Amen.

Portion of Scripture Read before Sermon-John 6:37 to end of Chapter.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-660, 658, 663.

STEPHEN’S DEATH

A Sermon

Delivered on Lord’s-Day Morning, May 24th, 1874, by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“And they stoned Stephen, calling upon God, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And when he had said this, he fell asleep.”-Acts 7:59, 60.

It is of the greatest service to us all to be reminded that our life is but a vapour, which appeareth for a little while and then vanisheth away. Through forgetfulness of this worldlings live at ease, and Christians walk carelessly. Unless we watch for the Lord’s coming, worldliness soon eats into our spirit as doth a canker. If thou hast this world’s riches, believer, remember that this is not thy rest, and set not too great a store by its comforts. If, on the other hand, thou dwellest in straitness, and art burdened with poverty, be not too much depressed thereby, for these light afflictions are but for a moment, and are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. Look upon the things that are as though they were not. Remember you are a part of a great procession which is always moving by; others come and go before your own eyes, you see them, and they disappear, and you yourself are moving onward to another and more real world. “’Tis greatly wise to talk with our last hours,” to give a rehearsal of our departure, and to be prepared to stand before the great tribunal of the judgment. Our duty is to trim our lamps against the time when the Bridegroom comes; we are called upon to stand always ready, waiting for the appearing of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, or else for the summons which shall tell us that the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern, that the body must return to the earth as it was, and the spirit unto God who gave it.

This death scene of Stephen’s may aid our meditations, while, by the help of the Holy Spirit, we cast our minds forward to the time when we also must fall asleep. This is the only martyrdom which is recorded in the New Testament in detail, the Holy Ghost foreseeing that there would be martyrdoms enough before the church’s history would end, and that we should never lack memorials such as those with which Foxe’s Martyrology and works of the like order supply us. It is equally remarkable that this is the only death scene in the New Testament which has been described at length, with the exception of our Lord’s. Of course we are told of the deaths of other saints, and facts relating thereto are mentioned, but what they said when they died, and how they felt in passing out of the world, are left unrecorded, probably because the Holy Spirit knew that we should never lack for holy death-beds and triumphant departures. These he well knew would be everyday facts to the people of God. Perhaps, moreover, the Holy Spirit would have us gather from his silence that he would not have us attach so much importance to the manner of men’s deaths as to the character of their lives. To live like Jesus most nearly concerns us; a triumphant death may be the crown, but a holy life is the head that must wear it. To obey our Lord’s commands during our life is our most pressing business; we may leave the testimony of death to be given us in the selfsame hour. We shall have dying grace in dying moments; and at this present our chief business is to obtain the grace which will enable us to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. However, as we have this one case of Stephen given us at full length, we should prize it the more highly, and study it the more carefully, because it is the only one. Let us do so this morning.

There are three things upon which I shall speak:-The general character of Stephen’s death; secondly, its most notable peculiarity; and thirdly, things desirable in reference to death suggested to us by Stephen’s departure.

Let us look at Stephen’s death, and notice its general character. It strikes us at once that it happened in the very midst of his service. He had been appointed an officer of the church at Jerusalem, to see that the alms were distributed properly amongst the poor, especially amongst the Grecian widows. He discharged his duty to the satisfaction of the whole church, and thereby he did most useful service, for it gave the apostles opportunity to give themselves wholly to their true work, namely, that of preaching and prayer, and it is no small matter to be able to bear a burden for another if he is thereby set free for more eminent service than we could ourselves perform. If it be so that I cannot preach myself, yet if I can take away from one who does preach certain cares which burden him, if I thus enable him to preach the more and the better, I am virtually preaching myself. The care which Stephen exercised over the poor tended also to prevent heartburning and division, and this was a result of no mean order. But, not content with being a deacon, Stephen began to minister in holy things as a speaker of the word, and that with great power, for he was full of faith and of the Holy Ghost. He stands forth on the page of the church’s history, for the time being, as quite a leading spirit; so much so, indeed, that the enemies of the gospel recognised his prominent usefulness, and made him the object of their fiercest opposition, for they generally rage most against those who are doing most good. Stephen stood in the front rank of the Lord’s host, and yet he was taken away! “A mystery,” say some; “A great privilege,” say I. My brethren, who desires to be removed at any other time? Is it not well to die in harness while yet you are useful? Who wants to linger till he becomes a burden rather than a help? If we are called to depart in the middle of service we must submit to it thankfully, and may even wish to have it said of us, he did

“His body with his charge lay down,

And ceased at once to work and live.”

He was removed in the very prime of his usefulness, just when many were being converted by his ministry, when, through his faith, miracles were being wrought on all sides, when he seemed, indeed, to be necessary to the church. And is not this well? Well, first, that God should teach his people how much he can do by a man whom he chooses; well, next, that he should show them that he is not dependent upon any man, but can do his work even without the choicest labourer in his vineyard. If our life can teach one lesson, and when that is taught, if our death can teach another, it is well to live and well to die, and far more desirable than to tarry long and take one’s flight in the dreary winter of declining influence. Let me be reaped, if I may venture on a choice, when my ministry shall be like the wheat in Pharaoh’s dream, with seven ears rank and good, and not in a time when the east wind has shrivelled me into barrenness. If God be glorified by our removal, is it not well? And may he not be more than ordinarily glorified when he lays us aside in order to show his church that he can do without his servants, or can raise up others in their stead? Happy is that messenger whose absence as well as his presence fulfils his Master’s will.

But Stephen’s death was painful, and attended with much that flesh and blood would dread. He died not surrounded by weeping friends, but by enemies who gnashed their teeth; no holy hymn made glad his death chamber, but the shouts and outcries of a maddened throng rang in his ears. For him no downy pillow, but the hard and cruel rocks; battered and bruised by a whirlwind of stones he laid him down to sleep, and woke up in the bosom of his Lord. Now, brethren, this is all the more for our comfort, because if he died in perfect peace, nay, in joy and triumph, how much more may we hope to depart in peace! Since we shall not have these grim attendants upon our departing hours, may we not hope that we shall be sustained and buoyed up by the presence of our Lord and Master even as he was, and grace will be made perfect in our weakness? Every circumstance tells on our side by way of comfort. If he slept amidst a storm of stones, how may we hope to fall asleep right peacefully, in the same faith in Jesus, when the saints are gathered around our bed to bid us farewell!

More particularly, however, I want to call your attention to the fact that Stephen’s departing moments were calm, peaceful, confident, joyous. He never flinched while he was addressing that infuriated audience. He told them the plain truth, with as much quiet deliberation as if he had been gratifying them with a pleasing discourse. When they grew angry he was not afraid; his lip did not quiver; he did not retract or soften down a single expression, but cut them to the heart with even more fidelity. With the courage of a man of God, his face was set as a flint. Knowing that he was now preaching his last sermon, he used the sharp two-edged sword of the word, piercing into their very souls. Little cared he how they frowned; nothing was he abashed when they gnashed their teeth. He was as calm as the opened heaven above him, and continued so though they hurried him out of the city. When they had dragged him outside the gate, and stripped off their clothes to carry out his execution, he did not let fall a single timorous word or trembling cry; he stood up and committed his soul to God with calmness, and when the first murderous stones felled him to the earth he rose to his knees, still not to ask for pity, nor to utter a craven cry, but to plead with his Lord for mercy upon his assailants; then, closing his eyes like a child tired out with the sport of a long summer’s day, and drops asleep upon its mother’s lap, “he fell asleep.” Believe, then, O Christian, that if you abide in Christ, the like will be the case with you. You shall be undisturbed at the premonitions of decay; when the physician shakes his head your heart shall not fail; when friends look sad you will not share their sorrow. We wept when we were born though all around us smiled; so shall we smile when we die while all around us weep. The dying Christian is often the only calm and composed person in all the group which fills the chamber from which he ascends to heaven. Talking of what he enjoys and expects, he glides gently into glory. Why should we expect it to be otherwise? Stephen’s God is our God; Stephen’s faith we already possess in its germ, and we may have it in the same degree; the Holy Spirit dwells in us even as he did in Stephen, and if he puts not forth the same energy, what doth hinder him but our unbelief? Getting more faith we shall enjoy the same tranquil repose of spirit when our appointed hour shall come. Brethren, let us not fear death, but descend Jordan’s shelving bank without the slightest dismay.

Some other points about Stephen’s departure I beg you to notice,-points relating to the state of his mind. His mind was in a very elevated condition. Here let us first remark his intense sympathy with God. All through that long speech of his you see that his soul is taken up with his God, and the treatment which he had received from Israel. He does not speak against his countrymen from any ill will, but he seems to take them very little into consideration; his God absorbs all his thoughts; and he tells how his God had sent Joseph, but his brethren persecuted him; his God had sent Moses, but they rebelled against him; his God had now sent Jesus, and they had been his betrayers and murderers. He had pity upon them in his heart, that is clearly seen in his dying prayer for them, but still his main feeling is sympathy with God in the rebellions which he had endured from the ungodly. Surely this is the mind which possesses the saints in heaven. I see, as I read Stephen’s speech, that he regarded impenitent sinners from the standpoint of the saints above, who will be so taken up in sympathy with God, and the righteousness of his government, that the doom of the finally rebellious will cause them no pain. The triumph of right over wilful wrong, of holiness over the foulest and most wanton sin, of justice over the ingratitude which made light of redeeming love, will clear the soul of all emotion but that which rejoices in every act of the Most High, because it is and must be right. I know how easily this remark may be misrepresented, still it is true, and let it stand.

Notice, too, how Stephen’s mind clung only to that which is purely spiritual. All ritualism was clean gone from him. I dare say at one time Stephen felt a great reverence for the temple; the first Jewish Christians still continued to feel a measure of that awe of the temple which, as Jews, they had formerly indulged; but Stephen says, “How-beit the Most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands; as saith the prophet, heaven is my throne and earth is my footstool: what house will ye build me? saith the Lord; or what is the place of my rest?” It is noteworthy how the saints, when they are near to die, make very little of what others make a great deal of. What is ritual to a dying man?-a man with his eyes opened, looking into the future, and about to meet his God? Sacraments are poor supports in the dying hour. Priestcraft, where is it? The reed has snapped beneath the weight of a burdened conscience, and the tremendous realities of death and judgment. The peculiar form of worship which a man contended for in health, and the little specialities of doctrines which he made much of aforetime, will seem little in comparison with the great spiritual essentials, when the soul is approaching the presence chamber of the Eternal. The saint in death is growingly spiritual, for he is nearing the land of spirits, and that city of which John said, “I saw no temple therein.” Brethren, it is a grand thing to grow in spiritual religion till you break the eggshell of form, and shake it off; for the outward fashion of ceremonies, and even of simplicities, is too often to men what the eggshell is to the living bird; and when the soul awakens into the highest forms of life we chip and break that shell, and leave our former bondage. Stephen came right away from those superstitious reverences which still cast their blight over many Christians, and worshipped God, who is a spirit, in spirit and in truth.

It is most clear that he rose beyond all fear of men. They grin at him, they howl at him, but what matters that to him? He will be put to a blasphemer’s death outside the city by the hands of cruel men; but that daunts him not. His face glows with joy unspeakable, he looks not like a man hurried to his execution, but as one on the way to a wedding. He looks like an immortal angel rather than a man condemned to die. Ah, brethren, and so will it be with all the faithful! To-day we fear man, who is but a worm; to-day we are so weak as to be swayed by the estimation of our fellows, and we listen to kindly voices, which counsel us to speak with bated breath upon certain points, lest we grieve this one or that; but the fitter we are for heaven the more we scorn all compromise, and feel that for truth, for God, for Christ, we must speak out, even if we die, for who are we that we should be afraid of a man that shall die, and the son of man that is but a worm? It is a blessed thing if this shall be growingly our condition.

At the same time Stephen was free from all cares. He was a deacon, but he does not say, “What will those poor people do? How will the widows fare? Who will care for the orphans?” He does not even say, “What will the apostles do now that I can no longer take the labour from off their shoulders?” Not a word of it. He sees heaven opened, and thinks little of the church below, love it though he does with all his heart. He trusts the church militant with her Captain; he is called to the church triumphant. He hears the trumpet sound, “Up and away,” and lo, he answers to the summons. Happy men who can thus cast off their cares, and enter into rest. Why should it not be thus with us? Why, like Martha, do we allow our much serving to cumber us? Our Lord managed his church well enough before we were born; he will not be at a loss because he has called us home, and therefore we need not trouble ourselves as though we were all-important, and the church would pine for lack of us.

At the same time, Stephen had no resentments. That was a sweet prayer of his, “Lay not this sin to their charge.” Just as Daniel before Belshazzar saw the scale and saw Belshazzar weighed in it and found wanting, so Stephen saw the balances of justice, and this murder of his, like a great weight, about to be placed in the scale against the raging Jews, and he cried, “Lord, cast not this sin into the balance.” He could not say, as the Saviour did, “They know not what they do,” for they did know it, and had been troubled by his speech, so that they stopped their ears, to hear no more; but he pleads for them as far as truth would permit him, while breathing out his soul. Every child of God ought to lay aside all resentments at once, or rather he should never have any. We are to carry in our hearts no remembrance of ills, but to live every day freely forgiving, as we are every day freely forgiven; but as we get nearer to heaven there must be growing love to those who hate us, for so shall we prove that we have been made ready for the skies.

To close up this description of his death, Stephen died like a conqueror. His name was Stephanos, or crown, and truly that day he not only received a crown, but he became the crown of the church as her first martyr. He was the conqueror, not his enemies. They stoned his body, but his soul had vanquished them. It was not in their power to move him; his quiet look defied their fury. He went home to his God to hear it said, “Servant of God, well done,” and in nothing had his foes despoiled him on the way thither. He was more than a conqueror through him that loved him.

These are some of the characteristics of Stephen’s departure, and I trust that in our measure they may be ours. God grant them to us, and we will give him all the glory.

Now I call your attention to a very interesting point,-the most notable peculiarity of Stephen’s death. It was notable for this one point, that it was full of Jesus,-and full of Jesus in four ways; Jesus was seen, invoked, trusted, and imitated.

First, the Lord Jesus was seen. The martyr looked up steadfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God. At first he was probably in the council hall of the Sanhedrim, but the vision seemed to divide the roof, to roll away the firmament, and set open the gates of heaven, so that into its innermost chambers the anointed eye was able to gaze. It is said he saw the Son of Man. Now this is the only place in Scripture where Jesus is called the Son of Man by any one but himself. He frequently called himself the Son of Man, that was indeed his common name for himself, but his disciples did not call him so. Perhaps the glory of the rejected Messiah as man was the peculiar thought which was to be conveyed to Stephen’s mind, to assure him that as the despised Lord had at length triumphed, so also should his persecuted servant. At all times it is a gladsome sight to see the representative man exalted to the throne of God, but it was peculiarly suitable for this occasion, for the Lord himself had warned his enemies, “Hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of power.” He had spoken those words to the very men who now heard Stephen bear witness that it was even so. Stephen saw his Lord standing; now our Lord is generally described as sitting, but it was as if the sympathising Lord had risen up to draw near to his suffering servant, eager both to sustain him and to receive him when the conflict was over. Jesus rose from the throne to gaze upon himself suffering again in the person of one of his beloved members. The place occupied by the Lord was “at the right hand of God.” Stephen distinctly saw the ineffable brightness of eternal glory, which no human eye can see until strengthened by superior grace, and amid that glory he saw the Son of Man in the place of love, power, and honour, worshipped and adored. Now, when we come to die, dear friends, we may not, perhaps, expect with these eyes to see what Stephen saw, but faith has a grand realising power. The fact that Jesus is enthroned is always the same, and so long as we are sure that he is at the right hand of God, it little matters whether we see him with our natural eyes, for faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen. Brethren, if your faith shall be strong when you come to die, as doubtless it will be, you will have a sight and sense of Jesus in his manhood at the right hand of God, and this will effectually take away from you all fear of death; for you will feel, “If the man Christ is there, I, being already represented by him, shall also be there; I shall rise from the dead; I shall sit at the right hand of the Father; his eternal power and Godhead will raise me up to be where he is, for has he not said-“I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am.” I will, however, venture further. I am convinced, from my own observation, that not to a few, but to many dying saints, something more is given than the realisations of faith. Much more frequently than we suppose, supernatural glimpses of the divine splendour are vouchsafed to the saints in the hour of their departure. I have heard persons comparatively uninstructed, and certainly unimaginative, speak of what they have seen in their last hour, in such a way, that I am certain they never borrowed the expressions from books, but must have seen what they described. There has been a freshness about their descriptions which has convinced me they did see what they assured me they beheld; and, moreover, the joy which has resulted from it, the acquiescence in the divine will, the patience with which they have borne suffering, have gone far to prove that they were not under the influence of an idle imagination, but were really enabled to look within the veil. The flesh in its weakness becomes, if I may so say, a rarefied medium; the mists are blown away, the obscuring veil grows thinner, disease makes rents in it, and through the thin places and the rents the heavenly glory shines. Oh, how little will a man fear death, or care about pain, if he expects to breathe out his soul on a better Pisgah than Moses ever climbed! Well did we sing just now-I am sure I sang it with all my heart-

“Oh, if my Lord would come and meet,

My soul would stretch her wings in haste,

Fly fearless through death’s iron gate,

Nor fear the terror as she passed.”

Now this model departure, which is given in Scripture as a type of Christian deaths, has this for its ensign, that Christ was visible; and such shall be the character of our departure, if through faith we are one with Jesus; therefore, let us not fear.

Next, notice that Jesus was invoked, for that is the meaning of the text. “They stoned Stephen, calling upon,” or invoking, “and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Dying Christians are not troubled with questions as to the deity of Christ. Dear friends, Unitarianism may do to live with, but it will not do to die with, at least for us. At such a time we need an almighty and divine Saviour; we want “God over all, blessed for ever” to come to our rescue in the solemn article. So Stephen called upon Jesus, and worshipped him. He makes no mention of any other intercessor. O martyr of Christ, why didst thou not cry, “Ave Maria! Blessed Virgin, succour me!”? Why didst thou not pray to St. Michael and all angels? Ah, no! The abomination of saint and angel worship had not been invented in his day, and if it had been he would have scorned it as one of the foul devices of hell. There is one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus. He invoked Christ, and no one else.

Neither do we find him saying a word as to his good works, and almsdeeds, and sermons, and miracles. No, he invoked the Lord Jesus and leaned on him wholly. Ah, brethren, it is well to live and to die resting wholly upon Jesus. If you lie down to-night and quietly think of your departure, and inquire whether you are ready to die, you will not feel at your ease till your heart stands at the foot of the cross, looking up and viewing the flowing of the Saviour’s precious blood, believing humbly that he made your peace with God. There is no right living, or joyful dying, except in invoking Christ.

What next did Stephen do? He trusted Jesus, and confided in him only; for we find him saying, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” He felt that his spirit was about to leave the body to fly into the unknown world. Perhaps a shiver came over him of natural awe at the great mystery, even as it comes over us when we think of being disrobed of the familiar garment of our body; but he placed his unclothed spirit in the hands of Jesus, and his fear and care were over. See, he has quite done with it now! He prays no more for himself, but intercedes for his enemies; and then closes his eyes and falls asleep. This is the simple and sublime art of dying. Once more we take our guilty soul and place it in the dear pierced hand of him who is able to keep it; and then we feel assured that all is safe. The day’s work is done, the doors are fastened, the watchman guards the streets; come, let us fall asleep. With Jesus seen, invoked, and trusted, it is sweet to die.

Notice, once again, that in Stephen we see Jesus imitated, for the death of Stephen is a reproduction of the death of Jesus; let us hope that ours will be the same. It was so, even in little circumstances. Jesus died without the gate, so did Stephen; Jesus died praying, so did Stephen; Jesus died saying, “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit;” Stephen cannot approach God absolutely, but he approaches him through the Mediator, and he says, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Christ dies pleading for his murderers, so does Stephen-“Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.” Now, if our death shall be ‘a reproduction of the death of Jesus, why need we fear? It has hitherto been sweet to be made like him, and it will still be sweet: even to suffer with him has been delightful, surely it will be joyful to die with him. We are willing to sleep in Jesus’ bed, and lie as he did in the bosom of the earth, to arise in his likeness at the resurrection.

Thus you see, dear brethren, that Stephen’s death was radiant with the glow of his Lord’s brightness. Christ was glorified and reflected in him. None could question whose image and superscription he bore. If our lives shall be of that order, our deaths also shall be of the like character. Let your life be looking unto Jesus, pleading with Jesus, trusting in Jesus, copying Jesus, and then your departing moments will be attended by visions of Jesus, and reproductions of his dying behaviour. As you have been with him in the trials of life, he will be with you in the closing scenes of death. Happy they whose deathbed Jesus makes, and who sleep in Jesus, to be brought with him when he returns to take the kingdom.

From Stephen’s departure we gather something as to the kind of death which we may wisely desire. First, it is very desirable that our death should be of a piece with our life. Stephen was full of faith and of the Holy Ghost in life, and so was he full of the Holy Ghost in death; Stephen was bold, brave, calm, and composed in life, he is the same amid the falling stones. It is very sad when the reported account of a man’s death does not fit in with his life. I am afraid that many funeral sermons have done great mischief by their flattery, for persons have very naturally said, “This is very strange, I never knew that the departed person was a saint until I heard this account of his end. Really, when I hear these wonderful things about him,-well, I should not have thought it.” No, it will not do to have no character for piety but that which is hurriedly run up in a few days of sickness and death. It is ill to die with a jerk, getting as it were upon another line of rails all on a sudden. It is better to glide from one degree of grace to another, and so to glory. We ought to die daily, die every morning before we go down to breakfast, that is to say, we should rehearse it all, so that when we come to die it will be no new thing to us. Death may be the fringe or border of life, but it should be made out of the same piece. A life of clay is not to be joined to a death of gold. We cannot hope to dine with the world and sup with God. We ought to dwell in the house of the Lord every day.

Again, it is most desirable that death should be the perfecting of our whole career, the putting of the corner-stone upon the edifice, so that when nothing else is wanted to complete the man’s labours he falls asleep. Dear brethren, is it so with you? Suppose you were to die this morning in the pew, would your life be a complete life, or would it be like a broken column snapped off in the centre? Why, there are some who even in their business lives have left many needful things undone; for instance, they have not made their wills yet, and will cause much sorrow to wife and children through their neglect. Some Christian people do not keep their worldly affairs in proper order, but are lax, disorderly, and slovenly, so that if they were to die, there would be many things because of which they would feel loathe to die Mr. Whitfield used to say when he went to bed at night, “I have not left even a pair of gloves out of their place: if I die to-night, all my affairs, for time and eternity, are in order.” That is the best way to live; so that, let death come when it may, at midnight, cock-crowing, or midday, it will be a desirable finis to a book of which we have written the last line; we have finished our course, and served our generation, and our falling asleep is the fit conclusion of the matter.

May our death not be one of a kind which needs flurry and hot haste to make the man ready. There are people in the world who, if they were going off by train and knew of it a month beforehand, would be all in a fever an hour before they started; though they know the time the train starts, they cannot arrive a few minutes before by any means, but rush in just as the bell rings, and leap into a carriage only in time to save the train. Some die in that fashion, as if they had so much to do and were in such a hurry; and besides, had so little grace that they could be only saved so as by fire. When worldly Christians die, there is a deal to be done to pack up, and get ready for departing; but a true Christian stands with his loins girded; he knows he has to travel; he does not know exactly when, but he stands with his staff in his hand He knows the Bridegroom is soon coming, and he therefore keeps his lamp well trimmed. That is the way to live and the way to die. May the Holy Spirit put us in such a condition, that the angel of death may not summon us unawares, or catch us by surprise; then will going home be nothing out of the common way, but a simple matter. Bengel, the famous commentator, did not wish to die in spiritual parade, with a sensational scene, but to pass away like a person called out to the street door from the midst of business. His prayer was granted. He was revising the proof sheets of his works almost to the moment when he felt the death stroke. Is not this well? Equally desirable was the end of the Venerable Bede, who died as he completed his translation of the gospel of John. “Write quickly,” said he, “for it is time for me to return to him who made me.” “Dear master,” said the pupil, “one sentence is still wanting.” “Write quickly,” said the venerable man. The young man soon added, “It is finished;” and Bede replied, “Thou hast well said, all is now finished,” and he fell asleep. So would I desire to depart, so might every Christian desire; we would make no stir from our daily holiness, we would change our place but not our service; having waited on our Lord at this end of the room, we are called up higher, and we go.

It must be a dreadful thing for a professing Christian to die full of regrets for work neglected and opportunities wasted. It is sad to have to say, “I must leave my Sunday-school class before I have earnestly warned those dear children to flee from the wrath to come.” It would be wretched for me to go home to-day and say, “I have preached my last sermon, but it was not earnest, nor calculated either to glorify God or benefit my fellow-men.” Can the end of a wasted life be other than unhappy? Will it not be sorrowful to be called away with work undone and purposes unfulfilled? O my brethren, do not live so as to make it hard to die.

It must also be a sad thing to be taken away unwillingly, plucked like an unripe fruit from the tree. The unripe apple holds fast to its place, and so do many hold hard to their riches, and cleave so fondly to worldly things that it needs a sharp pull to separate them from the world. The ripe fruit adheres but lightly, and when a gentle hand comes to take it, it yields itself freely, as if willing to be gathered, like an apple of gold into a basket of silver. God make you unworldly, and forbid that you should cleave so resolutely to things below as to make death a violence and departure a terror.

Brethren, we would not wish to die so that it should be a matter of question, especially to ourselves, to which place we are going, and yet you will die in that way if you live in that way. If you have no assurance of salvation, do you expect it to come to you on your dying bed? Why, my dear friend, when the pain increases and the brain becomes weary, you are very likely to suffer depression, and therefore you need strong faith to begin with for your own comfort then. Would you like friends to go out of your death-chamber saying, “We hope he is saved, but we stand in doubt concerning him”? Your life should prevent that. Holy Mr. Whitfield, when some one observed, “I should like to hear your dying testimony,” said, “No, I shall, in all probability bear no dying testimony.” “Why not?” said the other. “Because I am bearing testimony every day while I live, and there will be the less need of it when I die.” That seraphic apostle preached up to the last afternoon, and then went upstairs to bed, and died. There was no need for any one to ask, “What did he say when he was dying?” Ah, no; they knew what he said when he was living, and that was a great deal better. Let your testimony in life be such that, whether you speak or not in your last moments, there shall be no question about whose you were nor whom you served.

In conclusion, one would desire to die so that even our death should be useful. I feel persuaded that Stephen’s death had a great deal to do with Saul’s conversion. Have you ever observed the evident influence of Stephen upon Paul? Augustine says, “If Stephen had never prayed, Saul had never preached.” I do not say that the death of Stephen converted Saul; far from it; that change was wrought by a divine interposition when Saul was on the road to Damascus; but what he saw in Stephen’s martyrdom had made the soil ready to receive the good seed. Saul, in after life, seems to me to be always taking his text from Stephen’s sermon. Read that sermon through at home, and see if it is not so. Stephen spoke about the covenant of circumcision, and that was a very favourite topic with Paul. When Paul stood at Athens on Mars’ Hill and addressed the Areopagites, he said to them, “God that made heaven and earth dwelleth not in temples made with hands,”-almost the identical words which Stephen had quoted, and surely the remembrance of Stephen before the Sanhedrim must have rushed over the apostle’s mind at the time. There is yet another passage-and indeed I might carry on the parallel a very long way-where Stephen used the expression, “They received the law by the disposition of angels,” an idea peculiar to Paul. Paul is the child of Stephen; Stephen dying is the seed out of which Paul springs up. What a privilege so to die that a phœnix may rise out of our ashes! If we have been useful ourselves up to the measure of a moderate ability, we may, as we die, call forth greater workers than ourselves; our expiring spark may kindle the divine light in some flaming beacon, which far across the seas shall scatter the beams of gospel light. And why not? God grant that we may, both in life and in death, serve him well. I would that even in our ashes might live our former fires, that being dead we yet may speak.

It was a happy thought of an earnest divine, who asked that when he was dead he might be placed in his coffin where all his congregation might come and see him, and that on his bosom should be placed a paper bearing this exhortation, “Remember the words which I have spoken to you, being yet present with you.” Yes, we will go on telling of Jesus and winning souls in life and death, if God so helps us. Beloved believers, love the souls of men, and pray God to save them. As for you who are not saved yourselves, I implore you think of what your condition will be when you come to die; or, if a seared conscience should cause you to die in peace, think what you will do at the judgment, when that conscience will become tender. What will you do when the lips of the dear Redeemer shall say, “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire in hell”?

“Ye sinners, seek his grace,

Whose wrath ye cannot bear;

Look to the dying Saviour’s face,

And find salvation there.”

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-Acts 5:9-15; 7.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-855, 829, 853.