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 Charles Spurgeon
The Tomb of Jesus
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."—Matthew 28:6.
Every circumstance connected with the
life of Christ is deeply interesting to the Christian mind. Wherever we
behold our Savior, he is well worthy of our notice.
"His cross, his manger, and
his crown,
Are big with glories yet unknown."
All his weary pilgrimage, from Bethlehem's manger to Calvary's cross,
is, in our eyes, paved with glory. Each spot upon which he trod is, to
our souls, consecrated at once, simply because there the foot of earth's
Saviour and our own Redeemer once was placed. When he comes to Calvary,
the interest thickens; then our best thoughts are centered on him in the
agonies of crucifixion, nor does our deep affection permit us to leave
him, even when, the struggle being over, he yields up the ghost. His
body, when it is taken down from the tree, still is lovely in our
eyes—we fondly linger around the motionless clay. By faith we discern
Joseph of Arimathea, and the timid Nicodemus, assisted by those holy
women, drawing out the nails and taking down the mangled body; we behold
them wrapping him in clean, white linen, hastily girding him round with
belts of spices; then putting him in his tomb, and departing for the
Sabbath rest. We shall, on this occasion, go where Mary went on the
morning of the first day of the week, when waking from her couch before
the dawn, she aroused herself to be early at the sepulchre of Jesus. We
will try, if it be possible, by the help of God's Spirit, to go as she
did—not in body, but in soul—we will stand at that tomb; we will
examine it, and we trust we shall hear some truth-speaking voice coming
from its hollow bosom which will comfort and instruct us, so that we may
say of the grave of Jesus when we go away, "It was none other than
the gate of heaven"—a sacred place, deeply solemn, and sanctified
by the slain body of our precious Saviour.
I. AN INVITATION GIVEN. I shall commence my remarks this morning by
inviting all Christians to come with me to the tomb of Jesus.
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay." We will labor to
render the place attractive, we will gently take your hand to guide you
to it; and may it please our Master to make our hearts burn within us
while we talk by the way.
Away, ye profane—ye souls whose life is laughter, folly, and mirth!
Away, ye sordid and carnal minds who have no taste for the spiritual, no
delight in the celestial. We ask not your company; we speak to God's
beloved, to the heirs of heaven, to the sanctified, the redeemed, the
pure in heart—and we say to them, "Come, see the place where the
Lord lay." Surely ye need no argument to move your feet in the
direction of the holy sepulchre; but still we will use the utmost power
to draw your spirit thither. Come, then, for 'tis the shrine of
greatness, 'tis the resting-place of the man, the Restorer of
our race, the Conqueror of death and hell. Men will travel hundreds of
miles to behold the place where a poet first breathed the air of earth;
they will journey to the ancient tombs of mighty heroes, or the graves
of men renowned by fame; but whither shall the Christian go to find the
grave of one so famous as was Jesus? Ask me the greatest man who ever
lived—I tell you the man Christ Jesus was "anointed with the oil
of gladness above his fellow." If ye seek a chamber honored as the
resting-place of genius, turn in hither; if ye would worship at the
grave of holiness, come ye here; if ye would see the hallowed spot where
the choicest bones that e'er were fashioned lay for awhile, come with
me, Christian, to that quiet garden, hard by the walls of Jerusalem.
Come with me, moreover, because it is the tomb of your best friend.
The Jews said of Mary, "she goeth unto his grave to weep
there." Ye have lost your friends, some of you, ye have planted
flowers upon their tombs, ye go and sit at eventide upon the green
sward, bedewing the grass with your tears, for there your mother lies,
and there your father or your wife. Oh! in pensive sorrow come with me
to this dark garden of our Saviour's burial; come to the grave of your
best friend—your brother, yea, one who "sticketh closer than a
brother." Come thou to the grave of thy dearest relative, O
Christian, for Jesus is thy husband, "Thy maker is thy husband, the
Lord of Hosts is his name." Doth not affection draw you? Do not the
sweet lips of love woo you? Is not the place sanctified where one so
well-beloved slept, although but for a moment ? Surely ye need no
eloquence; if it were needed I have none. I have but the power, in
simple, but earnest accents, to repeat the words, "Come, see the
place where the Lord lay." On this Easter morning pay a visit to
his grave, for it is the grave of you best friend.
Yea, more, I will further urge you to this pious pilgrimage. Come,
for angels bid you. Angels said, "Come, see the place where the
Lord lay." The Syriac version reads, "Come, see the place
where our Lord lay." Yes, angels put themselves with those
poor women, and used one common pronoun—our. Jesus is the Lord
of angels as well as of men. Ye feeble women—ye have called him Lord,
ye have washed his feet, ye have provided for his wants, ye have hung
upon his lips to catch his honeyed sentences, ye have sat entranced
beneath his mighty eloquence; ye call him Master and Lord, and ye do
well; "But," said the seraph, "he is my Lord too;"
bowing his head, he sweetly said, "Come, see the place where our
Lord lay." Dost fear then, Christian, to step into that tomb? Dost
dread to enter there, when the angel pointeth with his finger and saith,
"Come, we will go together, angels and men, and see the royal
bedchamber?" Ye know that angels did go into his tomb, for they sat
one at his head and the other at his foot in holy meditation. I picture
to myself those bright cherubs sitting there talking to one another. One
of them said, "It was there his feet lay;" and the other
replied, "and there his hands, and there his head;" and in
celestial language did they talk concerning the deep things of God; then
they stooped and kissed the rocky floor, made sacred to the angels
themselves, not because there they were redeemed, but because there
their Master and their monarch, whose high behests they were obeying,
did for awhile become the slave of death, and the captive of
destruction. Come, Christian, then, for angels are the porters to unbar
the door; come, for a cherub is thy messenger to usher thee into the
death-place of death himself. Nay, start not from the entrance; let not
the darkness affright thee; the vault is not damp with the vapors of
death, nor doth the air contain aught of contagion. Come, for it is a
pure and healthy place. Fear not to enter that tomb. I will admit
that catacombs are not the places where we, who are full of joy, would
love to go. There is something gloomy and noisome about a vault. there
are noxious smells of corruption; oft-times pestilence is born where a
dead body hath lain; but fear it not, Christian, for Christ was not left
in hell—in Hades—neither did his body see corruption. Come, there is
no scent, yea, rather a perfume. Step in here, and, if thou didst ever
breathe the gales of Ceylon, or winds from the groves of Araby, thou
shalt find them far excelled by that sweet, holy fragrance left by the
blessed body of Jesus; that alabaster vase which once held divinity, and
was rendered sweet and precious thereby. Think not thou shalt find aught
obnoxious to thy senses. Corruption Jesus never saw; no worms ever
devoured his flesh; no rottenness ever entered into his bones; he saw no
corruption. Three days he slumbered, but no long enough to putrefy; he
soon arose, perfect as when he entered, uninjured as when his limbs were
composed for their slumber. Come then, Christian, summon up thy
thoughts, gather all thy powers; here is a sweet invitation, let me
press it again. Let me lead thee by the hand of meditation, my brother;
let me take thee by the arm of thy fancy, and let me again say to thee,
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
There is yet one reason more why I would have thee visit this royal
sepulchre—because it is a quiet spot. Oh! I have longed for
rest, for I have heard this world's rumors in my ears so long, that I
have begged for
"A lodge in some vast
wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,"
where I might hide myself forever. I am sick of this tiring and trying
life; my frame is weary, my soul is mad to repose herself awhile. I
would I could lay myself down a little by the edge of some pebbly brook,
with no companion save the fair flowers or the nodding willows. I would
I could recline in stillness, where the air brings balm to the tormented
brain, where there is no murmur save the hum of the summer bee, no
whisper save that of the zephyrs, and no song except the caroling of the
lark. I wish I could be at ease for a moment. I have become a man of the
world; my brain is racked, my soul is tired. Oh! wouldst thou be quiet,
Christian? Merchant, wouldst thou rest from thy toils? wouldst thou be
calm for once? Then come hither. It is in a pleasant garden, far from
the hum of Jerusalem; the noise and din of business will not reach thee
there; "Come, see the place where the Lord lay." It is a sweet
resting spot, a withdrawing room for thy soul, where thou mayest brush
from thy garments the dust of earth and muse awhile in peace.
II. ATTENTION REQUESTED. Thus I have pressed the invitation; now we will
enter the tomb. Let us examine it with deep attention, noticing every
circumstance connected with it.
And, first, mark that it is a costly tomb. It is no common grave;
it is not an excavation dug out by the spade for a pauper, in which to
hide the last remains of his miserable and overwearied bones. It is a
princely tomb; it was made of marble, cut in the side of a hill. Stand
here, believer, and ask why Jesus had such a costly sepulchre. He had no
elegant garments; he wore a coat without seam, woven from the top
throughout, without an atom of embroidery. He owned no sumptuous palace,
for he had not where to lay his head. His sandals were not rich with
gold, or studded with brilliants. He was poor. Why, then does he lie in
a noble grave? We answer, for this reason: Christ was unhonored till he
had finished his sufferings; Christ's body suffered contumely, shame,
spitting, buffeting, and reproach, until he had completed his great
work; he was trampled under foot, he was "despised and rejected of
men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" but the moment
he had finished his undertaking, God said, "No more shall that body
be disgraced; if it is to sleep, let it slumber in an honorable grave;
if it is to rest, let nobles bury it; let Joseph, the councillor, and
Nicodemus, the man of Sanhedrim, be present at the funeral; let the body
be embalmed with precious spices, let it have honor; it has had enough
of contumely, and shame, and reproach, and buffeting; let it now be
treated with respect." Christian, dost thou discern the meaning?
Jesus, after he had finished his work, slept in a costly grave; for now
his Father loved and honored him, since his work was done.
But, though it is a costly grave, it is a borrowed one. I see
over the top of it, "Sacred to the memory of the family of Joseph
of Arimathea;" yet Jesus slept there. Yes, he was buried in
another's sepulchre. He who had no house of his own, and rested in the
habitation of other men; who had no table, but lived upon the
hospitality of his disciples; who borrowed boats in which to preach, and
had not anything in the wide world, was obliged to have a tomb from
charity. Oh! should not the poor take courage? They dread to be buried
at the expense of their neighbors, but if their poverty be unavoidable,
wherefore should they blush, since Jesus Christ himself was interred in
another's grave? Ah! I wish I might have had Joseph's grave to let Jesus
be buried in it. Good Joseph thought he had cut it out for himself, and
that he should lay his bones there. He had it excavated as a family
vault, and lo, the Son of David makes it one of the tombs of the kings.
But he did not lose it by lending it to the Lord; rather, he had it back
with precious interest. He only lent it three days; then Christ resigned
it; he had not injured, but perfumed and sanctified it, and make it far
more holy, so that it would be an honor in future to be buried there. It
was a borrowed tomb; and why? I take it, not to dishonor Christ, but in
order to show that, as his sins were borrowed sins, so his burial was in
a borrowed grave. Christ had no transgressions of his own; he took ours
upon his head; he never committed a wrong, but he took all my sin, and
all yours, if ye are believers; concerning all his people, it is true,
he bore their griefs and carried their sorrows in his own body on the
tree; therefore, as they were others' sins, so he rested in another's
grave; as they were sins imputed, so that grave was only imputedly his.
It was not his sepulchre; it was the tomb of Joseph.
Let us not weary in this pious investigation, but with fixed attention
observe everything connected with this holy spot. The grave, we observe,
was cut in a rock. Why was this? the rock of Ages was buried in a
rock—a Rock within a rock. But why? Most persons suggest that it was
so ordained, that it might be clear that there was no covert way by
which the disciples or others could enter and steal the body away. Very
possibly it was the reason; but O! my soul, canst thou find a spiritual
reason? Christ's sepulchre was cut in a rock. It was not cut in mould
that might be worn away by the water, or might crumble and fall into
decay. The sepulchre stands, I believe, entire to this day; if it does
not naturally, it does spiritually. The same sepulchre which took the
sins of Paul, shall take my iniquities into his bosom, for if I ever
lose my guilt, it must roll off my shoulders into the sepulchre. It was
cut in a rock, so that if a sinner were saved a thousand years ago, I
too can be delivered, for it is a rocky sepulchre where sin was
buried—it was a rocky sepulchre of marble where my crimes were laid
forever—buried never to have a resurrection.
You will mark, moreover, that tomb was one wherein no other man had
ever lain. Christopher Ness says, when Christ was born, he lay in a
virgin's womb, and when he died, he was placed in a virgin tomb; he
slept where never man had slept before. The reason was that none might
say that another person rose, for there never had been any other body
there, thus a mistake of persons was impossible. Nor could it be said
that some old prophet was interred in the place, and that Christ rose
because he had touched his bones. You remember where Elisha was buried;
and as they were burying a man, behold he touched the prophet's bones
and arose. Christ touched no prophet's bones, for none had ever slept
there; it was a new chamber where the monarch of the earth did take his
rest for three day and three nights.
We have learned a little, then, with attention; but let us stoop down
once more before we leave the grave, and notice something else. We see
the grave, but do you notice the grave-clothes, all wrapped and
laid in their places, the napkin being folded up by itself? Wherefore
are the grave-clothes wrapped up? The Jews said robbers had abstracted
the body; but if so, surely they would have stolen the clothes; they
would never have thought of wrapping them up an laying them down so
carefully; they would be too much in haste to think of it. Why was it
then? To manifest to us that Christ did not come out in a hurried
manner. He slept till the last moment; then he awoke; he came not in
haste. They shall not come out in haste, neither by flight, but at the
appointed moment shall his people come to him. So at the precise hour,
the decreed instant, Jesus Christ leisurely awoke, took off his
cerements, left them all behind him, and came forth in his pure and
naked innocence, perhaps to show us that as clothes were the offspring
of sin—when sin was atoned for by Christ, he left all raiment behind
him—for garments are the badges of guilt: if we had not been guilty we
should never have needed them.
Then the napkin, mark you, was laid by itself. The grave-clothes were
left behind for every departed Christian to wear. The bed of death is
well sheeted with garments of Jesus, but the napkin was laid by itself,
because the Christian, when he dies, does not need that; it is used by
the mourners, and the mourners only. We shall all wear grave-clothes,
but we shall not need the napkin. When our friends die, the napkin is
laid aside for us to use; but do our ascended brethren and sisters use
it? No; the Lord God hath wiped away all tears from their eyes. We stand
and view the corpses of the dear departed, we moisten their faces with
our tears, letting whole showers of grief fall on their heads; but do they
weep? Oh, no. Could they speak to us from the upper spheres they would
say, "Weep not for me, for I am glorified. Sorrow not for me; I
have left a bad world behind me, and have entered into a far
better." They have no napkin—they weep not. Strange it is that
those who endure death weep not; but those who see them die, are
weepers. When the child is born it weeps while others smile, (say the
Arabs,) and when it dies it smiles while others weep. It is so with the
Christian. O blessed thing! The napkin is laid by itself, because
Christians will never want to use it when they die.
III. Emotion excited. We have thus surveyed the grave with deep
attention, and, I hope, with some profit to ourselves. But that is not
all. I love a religion which consists, in a great measure, of emotion.
Now, if I had power, like a master, I would touch the strings of your
hearts, and fetch a glorious tune of solemn music from them, for this is
a deeply solemn place into which I have conducted you.
First, I would bid you stand and see the place where the Lord lay with emotions
of deep sorrow. Oh cone, my beloved brother, thy Jesus once lay
there. He was a murdered man, my soul, and thou the murderer.
"Ah, you my sins, my cruel
sins,
His chief tormentors were,
Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear."
"Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?
And did my Sov'reign die?"
I slew him—this right hand struck the dagger to his heart. My deeds
slew Christ. Alas! I slew my best beloved; I killed him who loved me
with an everlasting love. Ye eyes, why do you refuse to weep when ye see
Jesus' body mangled and torn? Oh! give vent to your sorrow, Christians,
for ye have good reason to do so. I believe in what Hart says, that
there was a time in his experience when he could so sympathize with
Christ, that he felt more grief at the death of Christ than he did joy.
It seemed so sad a thing that Christ should have to die; and to me it
often appears too great a price for Jesus Christ to purchase worms with
his own blood. Methinks I love him so much, that if I had seen him about
to suffer, I should have been as bad as Peter, and have said, "That
be far from thee, Lord;" but then he would have said to me,
"Get thee behind me, Satan", for he does not approve of that
love which would stop him from dying. "The cup which my Father hath
given me, shall I not drink it?" But I think, had I seen him going
up to his cross, I could fain have pressed him back and said "Oh!
Jesus, thou shalt not die; I cannot have it. Wilt thou purchase my life
with a price so dear?" It seems too costly for him who is the
Prince of Life and Glory to let his fair limbs be tortured in agony;
that the hands which carried mercies should be pierced with accursed
nails; that the temples that were always clothed with love should have
cruel thorns driven through them. It appears too much. Oh! weep,
Christian, and let your sorrow rise. Is not the price all but too great,
that your beloved should for you resign himself? Oh! I should
think, if a person were saved from death by another, he would always
feel deep grief if his deliverer lost his life in the attempt. I had a
friend, who, standing by the side of a piece of frozen water, saw a
young lad in it, and sprang upon the ice in order to save him. After
clutching the boy, he held him in his hands and cried out, "Here he
is! Here he is! I have saved him." But, just as they caught hold of
the boy, he sank himself, and his body was not found for some time
afterwards, when he was quite dead. Oh! it is so with Jesus. My soul was
drowning. From heaven's high portals he saw me sinking in the depths of
hell; he plunged in:
"He sank beneath his heavy
woes,
To raise me to a crown;
There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows,
But cost his heart a groan."
Ah! we may indeed regret our sin, since it slew Jesus.
Now, Christian, change thy note a moment. "Come, see the place
where the Lord lay," with joy and gladness. He does not lie
there now. Weep, when ye see the tomb of Christ, but rejoice because it
is empty. Thy sin slew him, but his divinity raised him up. Thy guilt
hath murdered him, but his righteousness hath restored him. Oh! he hath
burst the bonds of death, he hath ungirt the cerements of the tomb, and
hath come out more than conqueror, crushing death beneath his feet.
Rejoice, O Christian, for he is not there—he is risen.
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
One more thought, and then I will speak a little concerning the
doctrines we may learn from this grave. "Come, see the place where
the Lord lay." with solemn awe for you and I will have to
lie there too.
"Hark! from the tomb a
doleful sound,
Mine ears, attend the cry,
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where ye must shortly lie."
"Princes, this clay must be your
bed,
In spite of all your powers.
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Must lie as low as ours."
It is a fact we do not often think of, that we shall all be dead in a
little while. I know that I am made of dust, and not of iron; my bones
are not brass, nor my sinews steel; in a little while my body must
crumble back to its native elements. But do you ever try to picture to
yourself the moment of your dissolution? My friends, there are some of
you who seldom realize how old you are, how near you are to death. One
way of remembering our age, is to see how much remains. Think how old
eighty is, and then see how few years there are before you will get
there. We should remember our frailty. Sometimes I have tried to think
of the time of my departure. I do not know whether I shall die a violent
death or not; but I would to God that I might die suddenly; for sudden
death is sudden glory. I would I might have such a blessed exit as Dr.
Beaumont, and die in my pulpit, laying down my body with my charge, and
ceasing at once to work and live. But it is not mine to choose. Suppose
I lie lingering for weeks, in the midst of pains, and griefs, and
agonies; when that moment comes, that moment which is too solemn for my
lips to speak of, when the spirit leaves the clay—let the physician
put it off for weeks, or years, as we say he does, though he does
not—when that moment comes, O ye lips, be dumb, and profane not its
solemnity. When death comes, how is the strong man bowed down! How doth
the mighty man fall! They may say they will not die, but there is no
hope for them; they must yield, the arrow has gone home. I knew a man
who was a wicked wretch, and I remember seeing him pace the floor of his
bedroom saying "O God, I will not die, I will not die." When I
begged him to lie on his bed, for he was dying, he said he could not die
while he could walk, and he would walk till he did die. Ah! he expired
in the utmost torments, always shrieking, "O God, I will not
die." Oh! that moment, that last moment. See how clammy is the
sweat upon the brow, how dry the tongue, how parched the lips. The man
shuts his eyes and slumbers, then opens them again: and if he be a
Christian, I can fancy that he will say:
"Hark! they whisper: angels
say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite—
Steals my senses—shuts my sight—
Drowns my spirit—draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?"
We know not when he is dying. One gentle sigh, and the spirit breaks
away. We can scarcely say, "he is gone," before the ransomed
spirit takes its mansion near the throne. Come to Christ's tomb, then,
for the silent vault must soon be your habitation. Come to Christ's
grave, for ye must slumber there. And even you, ye sinners, for one
moment I will ask you to come also, because ye must die as well as the
rest of us. Your sins cannot keep you from the jaws of death. I say,
sinner, I want thee to look at Christ's sepulchre too, for when thou
diest it may have done thee great good to think of it. You have heard of
Queen Elizabeth, crying out that she would give an empire for a single
hour. Or have you heard the despairing cry of the gentleman on board the
"Arctic," when it was going down, who shouted to the boat,
"Come back! I will give you £30,000 if you will come and take me
in." Ah! poor man, it were but little if he had thirty thousand
worlds, if he could thereby prolong his life: "Skin for skin, yea,
all that a man hath, will he give for his life." Some of you who
can laugh this morning, who came to spend a merry hour in this hall,
will be dying, and then ye will pray and crave for life, and shriek for
another Sabbath-day. Oh! how the Sabbaths ye have wasted will walk like
ghosts before you! Oh! how they will shake their snaky hair in your
eyes! How will ye be made to sorrow and weep, because ye wasted precious
hours, which, when they are gone, are gone too far to be recalled. May
God save you from the pangs of remorse.
IV. INSTRUCTION IMPARTED. And now, Christian brethren, "Come, see
the place where the Lord lay," to learn a doctrine or two. What did
you see when you visited "the place where the Lord lay?"
"He is not here; for he is risen." The first thing you
perceive, if you stand by his empty tomb, is his divinity. The
dead in Christ shall rise first at the resurrection: but he who rose
first—their leader, rose in a different fashion. They rise by imparted
power. He rose by his own. He could not slumber in the grave, because he
was God. Death had no more dominion over him. There is no better proof
of Christ's divinity that that startling resurrection of his, when he
rose from the grave, by the glory of the Father. O Christian, thy Jesus
is a God; his broad shoulders that hold thee up are indeed divine; and
here thou hast the best proof of it—because he rose from the grave.
A second doctrine here taught well may charm thee, if the Holy Spirit
apply it with power. Behold his empty tomb, O true believer: it is a
sign of thine acquittal, and thy full discharge. If Jesus had not
paid the debt, he ne'er had risen from the grave. He would have lain
there till this moment if he had not cancelled the entire debt, by
satisfying eternal vengeance. O beloved, is not that an overwhelming
thought?
"It is finished, it is
finished,
Hear the rising Saviour cry."
The heavenly turnkey came, a bright angel stepped from heaven and rolled
away the stone; but he would not have done so if Christ had not done
all: he would have kept him there, he would have said, "Nay,nay,
thou art the sinner now; thou hast the sins of all thine elect upon thy
shoulder, and I will not let thee go free till thou hast paid the
uttermost farthing." In his going free I see my own discharge.
"My Jesu's blood's my full
discharge."
As a justified man, I have not a sin now against me in God's book. If I
were to turn over God's eternal book, I should see every debt of mine
receipted and cancelled.
"Here's pardon for
transgressions past,
It matter not how black their cast,
And O my soul, with wonder view,
For sins to come, here's pardon too.
Fully discharged by Christ I am,
From Christ's tremendous curse and blame."
One more doctrine we learn, and with that we will conclude—the
doctrine of the resurrection. Jesus rose, and as the Lord our
Saviour rose, so all his followers must rise. Die I must—this body
must be a carnival for worms; it must be eaten by those tiny cannibals;
peradventure it shall be scattered from one portion of the earth to
another; the constituent particles of this my frame will enter into
plants, from plants pass into animals, and thus be carried into far
distant realms; but, at the blast of the archangel's trumpet, every
separate atom of my body shall find its fellow; like the bones lying in
the valley of vision, though separated from one another, the moment God
shall speak, the bone will creep to its bone; then the flesh shall come
upon it; the four winds of heaven shall blow, and the breath shall
return. So let me die, let beasts devour me, let fire turn this body
into gas and vapor, all its particles shall yet again be restored; this
very self-same, actual body shall start up from its grave, glorified and
made like Christ's body, yet still the same body, for God hath said it.
Christ's same body rose; so shall mine. O my soul, dost thou now dread
to die? Thou wilt lose thy partner body a little while, but thou wilt be
married again in heaven; soul and body shall again be united before the
throne of God. The grave—what is it? It is the bath in which the
Christian puts the clothes of his body to have them washed and cleansed.
Death—what is it? It is the waiting-room where we robe ourselves for
immortality; it is the place where the body, like Esther, bathes itself
in spices that it may be fit for the embrace of its Lord. Death is the
gate of life; I will not fear to die, then, but will say,
"Shudder not to pass the
stream;
Venture all thy care on him;
Him whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar,
Safe in the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve.
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there."
Come, view the place then, with all hallowed meditation, where the Lord
lay. Spend this afternoon, my beloved brethren, in meditating upon it,
and very often go to Christ's grave, both to weep and to rejoice. Ye
timid ones, do not be afraid to approach, for 'tis no vain thing to
remember that timidity buried Christ. Faith would not have given him a
funeral at all; faith would have kept him above ground, and would never
have let him be buried; for it would have said, it would be useless to
bury Christ if he were to rise. Fear buried him. Nicodemus, the night
disciple, and Joseph of Arimathea, secretly, for fear of the Jews, went
and buried him. Therefore, ye timid ones, ye may go too. Ready-to-halt,
poor Fearing, and thou, Mrs. Despondency, and Much-afraid, go often
there; let it be your favorite haunt, there build a tabernacle, there
abide. And often say to your heart, when you are in distress and sorrow,
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay." |
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