Chapter 20: Rules 7 and 8 — Patiently Waiting for Death and Not Loving This Present Life

The addition of two Rules that more specially respect the yet future season of this blessedness; after this life, namely Rule 7: That we patiently wait for it until death, and Rule 8: That we love not too much this present life.

There are yet two more Rules to be superadded, that respect the season of this blessedness: [when we awake] that is, not till we go out of time, into eternity; not till we pass out of the drowsy darkness of our present state, till the night be over with us, and the vigorous light of the everlasting day do shine upon us. Hence therefore it will be further necessary.

7. That while the appointed proper season of this blessedness is not yet come (that is, till God shall vouchsafe to translate us from our present earthly state) we compose our spirits to a patient expectation of it.

Upon a twofold account, the exercise of patience is very [reconstructed: requisite] in the present case, namely both in respect of this very expectation itself, and also in respect of the concomitant miseries of this expecting state. In the former respect, an absent good, is the matter of our patience; in the latter, present and incumbent evil. It falls more directly, in our way to speak to the exercise of patience upon the former account, yet as to the latter (though it be more collateral as to our present purpose) it cannot be unseasonable, briefly to consider that also.

First, therefore, the very expectation itself of this blessedness, renders patience very requisite to our present state. Patience has as proper and necessary an exercise, in expecting the good we want and desire, as in enduring the evil, that is actually upon us. The direction (it must be remembered) intends such only, as apprehend, and desire this blessedness as their greatest good, whose souls are transported with earnest longings, fully to enjoy what they have foretasted. I am apprehensive enough that others need it not. There is no use of patience in expecting what we desire not.

But as to those who desire it most, and who therefore are most concerned in this advice; it may possibly become a doubt; how, since there is sin in our present ignorance of God, and unlikeness to him, this can be the matter of any patience.

We must therefore know, that as our knowledge of God, and conformity to him are both our duty, and blessedness; the matter both of our endeavor, and of God's vouchsafement. So our ignorance of him, and unlikeness to him, are both our sin, and our misery; which misery, though God have graciously removed it in part, yet also he continues it upon us in part (as our sad experience tells us) by his just, and wise dispensation, which we cannot except against.

Now therefore, looking upon the defect of our knowledge of God, and likeness to him, under the former notion; though we are to reflect upon ourselves with greater displeasure and indignation; yet looking on them, in the latter notion, we are to submit to the righteous dispensation of God, with a meek, unrepining patience.

By this patience, therefore, I mean; not a stupid succumbency under the remaining disease, and distemper of our spirits, in this our present state; a senseless indifferency, and oscitant cessation from continual endeavors of further redress; but a silent and submissive veneration of divine wisdom, and justice, and goodness, that are sweetly complicated in this procedure with us; with a quiet peaceful expectation of the blessed issue of it.

This being premised, I shall [reconstructed: briefly] show.

That we have need of patience. That we have reason for it in this present case.

1. That we have need of it (supposing our souls are intent upon glory; that we are in earnest in this pursuit) will appear upon sundry accounts.

First, the greatness of the thing we expect. To behold the face of God, to be satisfied with his likeness. What serious heart, apprehensive of its own concerns, can without much patience, hold out under such an expectation? How do lovers, that expect the marriage day, tell the hours, and chide the sun that it makes no more haste? But how can that soul contain itself, that expects the most intimate fruition of the Lord of glory!

Again, consider, the continued representation, and frequent inculcations of this glory. Its vigorous powerful beams are, by often [reconstructed: repeated] pulsations, continually beating upon such souls, as are intent towards it. Life and immortality are brought to light in the Gospel; and they are obliged, by command, and inclination, to attend its discoveries. The eye that's once smitten, looks again, and again, 'tis not satisfied with seeing; and every renewed look meets with, still, fresh rays of glory; they have frequent foretastes, and [reconstructed: prelibations], which still give life to new desires. To lie under the direct stroke of the power of the world to come, this requires much patience, to sustain the burden of such an expectation. Life itself were otherwise a bitter, and a wearisome thing. And the want of such foretastes (for alas they are not constant) makes desire sometimes more restless, and expectation more bitter and grievous.

Moreover consider the nature and spring of these desires, that work in heavenly souls towards this glory. They are of a divine nature, and origin; He who has wrought us to this self same thing is God (2 Corinthians 5:5).

Observe the tenor of this proposition, God is not the subject of predication, but the predicate. The action is not predicated of God; as it would in this form of words, God has wrought us, etc. but God is predicated of this agent, as if to say, This is the work of a deity; none but God could be the author of such desires. That a soul should be acted towards glory by the alone power of an Almighty hand! here needs a divine patience to sustain it, and make it strong, and able to endure such a motion; where there is divine power to act and move it forward. The frame could not hold it else, it must dissolve. The Apostle therefore praying for the Thessalonians, that God would direct their hearts into the love of himself (which could not but enflame their souls with a desire of a perfect vision, and enjoyment) presently adds, and into the patient waiting for of Christ (2 Thessalonians 3:5). Where we cannot by the way but reflect upon the admirable constitution, and equal temper of the new creature, as to the principles, that are ingredient into the composition of it, fervent desire; allayed with meek submission, mighty love, with strong patience. If we consider it in actu signato, or in its abstract, idea, this is its temperament; and of these there is a gradual participation, wherever you find it actually existing. God had otherwise formed a creature (the prime of his creatures) so as by its most intrinsic constituent principles to be a torment to itself.

Lastly, the [reconstructed: tiresome] nature of expectation in itself is not the least considerable. It carries (it is true) pleasure (if it be hoping expectation) with it, but not without a great admixture of pain. It brings a kind of torture to the mind, as a continued exertion or stretching forth of the neck (by which it is expressed) does to the body. Therefore it [reconstructed: is] most significantly said by the wise man, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick." All these, I say, together discover the truth of what the Apostle tells us: "We have need of patience, that when we &c. we may inherit the Promise."

2. And as we have need of it, so we have also reason for it, upon many accounts. It is no piece of rigorous severity to be put upon the exercise of some patience, to be kept a while in a waiting posture for the completion of this blessedness. For —

First, the thing you expect is sure. You have not to do in this matter with one who is inconstant, or likely to change. If such a one should make us large promises, we should have some cause never to think ourselves secure, till we had them made good to us. But since we live in the hope of eternal life, which God — who cannot lie, and who, we know, is faithful — has promised, we may be confident, and this confidence should quiet our hearts. What a faithful friend keeps for us, we reckon as safe in his hands as in our own. He that believes makes no haste. And impatient haste argues an unbelieving jealousy and distrust. Surely, there is an end, and your expectation will be cut off.

And then, it is a happiness that will recompense the most wearisome expectation. It were good sometimes to consider with ourselves, what is the object of our hope? Are our expectations [reconstructed: pitched] upon a valuable good? That will be worth while to expect — so the Psalmist, "What wait I for?" and he answers himself, "My hope is in you." Sure then that hope will not make ashamed. It were a confounding thing to have been a long time full of great hopes, that at last dwindle into some petty trifle; but when we know beforehand the business is such as will defray itself, bear its own charges, who would not be contented to wait?

Nor will the time of expectation be long — when I shall [reconstructed: awake], when he shall appear. Put it to the longest term: it was said, 1600 years ago, to be but a little while; three times over in the closing of the Bible, he tells us, "I come quickly." He seems to foresee he should be something impatiently expected; and at last, "Surely I come quickly." q. d. What, will you not believe me? "Be patient," says the Apostle, "to the coming of the Lord;" and presently he adds, "Be patient, establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord draws near."

Indeed, and amidst the many troubles of that short time of expectation, many present comforts are intermingled. Heaven is open to us. We have constant liberty of access to God. He disdains not our present converse; we may have the constant pleasure of the exercise of grace, the heavenly delights of meditation. The joy of the public solemnities of worship. The communion and encouragement of fellow Christians. The light of that countenance of which we expect the eternal vision. The comforts of the Holy Ghost. The continual prospect of glory all the way there. What cause have we of impatience or complaint?

Further, saints of all ages have had their expecting time. We are required to be followers of them who through faith and patience have inherited the promises. Our Saviour himself waited a life's time for his glorification. "I have," says he, "glorified you on earth; I have finished the work you gave me to do. And now further glorify me with your own self &c."

And while we are waiting (if it be not our fault) our glory will be increasing; we may be glorifying God in the meantime, which is the end of our beings — we need not live here to no purpose.

Again, we were well enough content till God more clearly revealed that other state to live always as we do. It is not now ingenuous to be impatiently querulous about the time of our entering into it. It is his free vouchsafement — we never merited such a thing at his hands. It is not commendable among men to be over quick in exacting doubts, even where there was an antecedent right; much less where the right only shall accrue by promise — not yet suitable. Would it not shame us to have God say to us, "Have patience with me and I will pay you all"?

And our former state should be often reflected on. If you had promised great things to a wretch lately taken off the dunghill, and he is every day impatiently urging you [reconstructed: to] an untimely accomplishment, would you not check his overbold haste by minding him of his origins? It becomes not base and lowborn persons to be transported with a preposterous, over-hasty expectation of high and great things.

And if God bears with the sinfulness of our present state, is it not reasonable we should bear with the infelicity of it to his appointed time?

Besides that, we should much injure ourselves by our impatience; embitter our present condition, increase our own burden, dissipate our strength, retard our progress towards the perfection we profess to aim at; for patience must have its perfect work, that we may be perfect.

And others that have had as clear apprehensions and vigorous desires (at least) of the future state of glory as we can (with modesty) pretend to; have yet herein moderated themselves so, as to intend their present work with composed spirits. Take that one instance of the blessed Apostle; who, while, in this earthly tabernacle, he groaned, being burdened to be clothed, with glory, and to have mortality swallowed up of life being sensible enough, that during his abode, or presence in the body, he was absent from the Lord; yet notwithstanding the fervor and vehemency of these longings, with the greatest calmness, and resignation imaginable, (as to the termination, or continuance of his present state) he adds, that (though he had rather be absent from the body to be present with the Lord) it was yet his chief ambition (as the word, he uses signifies) whether present or absent (as, if in comparison of that, to be present, or absent were indifferent though otherwise out of that comparison, he had told us he would be absent rather) to be accepted to appear grateful, and well pleasing in the eye of God; such that he might delight, and take content in (as his expression imports.) As if he had said; though I am not unapprehensive of the state of my case, I know well, I am kept out of a far more desirable condition, while I remain in this tabernacle; yet, may I but please and appear acceptable in the sight of God, whether I be sooner dismissed from this thraldom, or longer, continued in it, I contend not. His burden here, that so sensibly pressed him, was not a present evil so much as an [reconstructed: absent] good. He was not so burdened by what he felt, and could not remove, as by what he saw, and could not enjoy. His groans accordingly were not brutal; as those of a beast under a too heavy load; but rational, the groans of an apprehensive spirit panting after an alluring, inviting glory; which he had got the prospect of, but could not yet attain. And hence the same spiritual reason which did exercise, did also at once moderate his desires, so that as he saw there was reason to desire, so he saw there was reason his desires should be allayed by a submissive ingenious patience, till they might have a due [illegible] seasonable accomplishment. And that [reconstructed: same temper] of mind we find him in, when he professes to be in a strait between two, having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ, which he thought to be far better, and yet apprehended his longer abode in the world, to be needful for the service of the Church; whereupon he expresses his confidence, that he should abide longer, and therein discovers how well contented he was, it should be so.

Therefore, as in reference to this very expectation itself, there is great need of patience; so the exercise of it in this case has nothing harsh, or unreasonable in it, or which the spirit of a Saint may not well comport with.

And for the exercise of patience upon the latter account; the concomitant miseries of this our present expecting state. I need not insist to show how needful it is, this being that which our own sense will sufficiently instruct us in. We are not to expect the future state of blessedness in a state of present ease and rest, in a quiet friendly world; in a calm and peaceful region under placid and benign influences from men, and times; but amidst storms, and tempests, and trouble on every side, under frowns and displeasures, threats and dangers, harsh and rough severities, ill and ungentle usages, flouts and scorns, wrongs and injurious dealings, wants and pressures in many kinds. When the world is once forsaken by us, it grows angry; If we disclaim it, and avow ourselves not to be of it, becomes confessed strange and pilgrims in it, set ourselves seriously, and visibly to mind and design something above and beyond it, discover ourselves to be of them, that are called out of it, from the same principle that it loves its own, it will hate us; when once God calls us his sons, the world will not know us. We see in this context we are discoursing from what the Psalmist condition was, while, as yet he remained under this blessed expectation. He found the men of time, whose portion was in this life, to be deadly enemies, wicked oppressors, proud insulters? They were to him as greedy lions, as a bloodthirsty sword. His cries to be delivered from them, show what he met with at their hands, or thought he had reason to fear. Nor can so raging enmity and hate ever cease to meditate mischiefs and cruelties. The same principle still remains in all the Serpent's brood, and will still be putting forth itself in suitable practices, which cannot but infer to the contrary Seed, continual trouble and matter of complaint.

And (in short) whatever is here the matter of your complaint, ought to be the matter of your patience. From where it cannot be doubted the matter of it will be very copious; so as to require the full of patience (as the Apostle speaks) which his addressing this solemn request to God on the behalf of these Colossian Christians plainly intimates. He prays that they may be strengthened with all might according to the glorious power of God to all patience, etc. Patience is the Christian's suffering [reconstructed: power], 'tis passive fortitude, an ability to suffer; and so apprehensive he is of their great need of a full, and ample supply of this power; that he prays, that they might be strengthened in this kind with might, with all might, that they might be even almighty sufferers; strengthened with a might according and corresponding to the glorious power of God himself; Such as might appear the proper impress and image of divine power, whereof the divine power might be both the principle, and the pattern (for the patience whereby God bears the wrongs done to him is called power too; Let the power of the Lord be great as you have spoken, saying, the Lord is long-suffering forgiving etc.) And this to all patience, where patience is put for an act of this power, or must be understood of patience in exercise, actual bearing.

Nor are we to look upon the expressions of this prayer as so many hyperbolical strains, or rhetorical schemes of speech. He prays according to the apprehension he had of the necessity of suffering Christians.

And yet however much the need is, the reason is not less — it is a thing as possible as it is necessary; indeed there is a deal more in the power of the cause than to work this single effect. I mean it not only of the efficient cause mentioned before, but of the [reconstructed: objective], or final (as having such a superabundant sufficiency in its kind also) hinted in the close of the following verse. He does not utter vain and groundless wishes, when he prays, that to that all of patience they might add joyfulness too, and giving of thanks; no, the matter (as if he had said) will bear it, even the inheritance of the Saints in light (the very expectation objective, I am speaking of). It has enough in it to induce, not only patience, but joy, not a contented bearing only, but giving of thanks too, to him that has made you meet for that inheritance.

True it is indeed, that the very need we have of patience, and the gain that would accrue by it, is itself a reason why we should labor to frame our spirits to it, for if such evils must be undergone, how much better is it to bear them alone, than to have the disease of a wounded impatient spirit, to bear also, as an additional burden. The law of patience is certainly a most indulgent, merciful law, a gracious provision (as much as can be made by a law, for the quiet and ease of our spirits, under the sharpest and most afflictive sufferings). As might at large be shown, were it suitable to fall into a discourse of patience in itself considered; and to treat of that rest, and pleasure, that liberty of spirit, that possession and dominion of one's own soul, which it carries in it. But that were too much a digression. It only falls directly here in our way to consider, that as we have many grievances and pressures to undergo, while we are expecting the future blessedness, which render the exercise of patience very requisite, so that there is enough of weight and worth, in that very expectation (that is, in what we expect) to outweigh them all; and to render the exercise thereof highly reasonable upon that account. I reckon (says the Apostle) that the sufferings of this present time, are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us. Thus (says he) I reckon, that is, it is my stated, settled judgment, not a sudden rash thought. When I have reasoned the matter with myself, weighed it well, considered the case, turned it round, viewed it exactly on every side; balanced advantages and disadvantages, pondered all things, which are fit to come into consideration about it; this is the result, the final determination; that which I conclude and judge at last (judgment is the last product, and issue of the most exquisite inquiry and debate; the ultimate, and most perfect act of reason) that the sufferings of this now of time are of no value; things not fit, as it were, to be mentioned the same day, with the glory to be revealed, etc. It can therefore be no hard law, no unreasonable imposition, that shall oblige us to the exercise of patience, under such sufferings, in the expectation of so transcendent glory. For, consider,

First, these sufferings are but from men; (for the sufferings, of which the Apostle here speaks, are such as wherein we suffer together with Christ, that is, for his name, and interest, on behalf of the Christian cause.) But this glory is from God. How disproportionate must the effects be of a created, and uncreated cause.

Again, these sufferings reach no further than the bone and flesh. (Fear not them that kill the body, and, after they have done that, can do no more, etc.) But this glory reaches to, and transforms the soul. How little can a clod of earth suffer, in comparison of what an immortal spirit may enjoy?

And further, there is much mixture in our present sufferings. The present state of suffering saints is not a state of total misery. There are, as it were, rays of glory interlaced with their present afflictions; but there will be nothing of affliction mingled with their future glory.

Indeed, and (what may not only convince, but even transport us too) these sufferings are but temporary — or rather, but momentary. This glory is eternal. What heart is big enough to comprehend the full sense of these words: our light affliction which is but for a moment, works for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. How might I dwell here upon every syllable — light affliction, weighty glory [exceeding weight], affliction for a moment, eternal weight of glory.

O then, how unworthy is it of the Christian name, and hopes, that we should have an impatient resentment of this method God follows with us (as he did with our great Redeemer, and Lord) that we should suffer first, and then enter into glory! Heaven were a poor heaven, if it would not make us savers. It were high time for us to give over the Christian profession, if we do not really account that its reward, and hope do surmount its reproach, and trouble; or do think its cross more weighty, than its crown. Is the price, and worth of eternal glory fallen? It has been counted worth suffering for. There have been those in the world, that would not accept deliverance from these sufferings, that they might obtain the better resurrection. Are we grown wiser? Or would we indeed wish God should turn the tables, and assign us our good things here, and hereafter evil things? Ungrateful souls! How severe should we be to ourselves? That we should be so apt to complain, for what we should admire and give thanks. What because purer, and more refined Christianity in our time, and in this part of the world, has had public favor and countenance, can we therefore not tell how to frame our minds to the thoughts of suffering? Are tribulation and patience antiquated names? Quite out of date, and use with us? And more ungrateful to our ears and hearts, than heaven and eternal glory are acceptable? And had we rather (if we were in danger of suffering on the Christian account) run a hazard, as to the latter, than adventure on the former? Or do we think it impossible, we should ever come to the trial, or be concerned to busy ourselves with such thoughts? Is the world become so stable, and so unacquainted with vicissitudes, that a state of things less favorable to our profession can never revolve upon us? It were however not unuseful to put such a case by way of supposition to ourselves. For every sincere Christian is in affection, and preparation of his mind a martyr. He that loves not Christ better than his own life, cannot be his disciple. We should, at least inure our thoughts more to a suffering state; that we may from there take some occasion to reflect, and judge of the temper of our hearts towards the name and cause of Christ. It is easy suffering indeed, in idea, and contemplation, but something may be collected from the observation, how we can relish and comport with such thoughts. It is as training in order to fight; which is done, often, upon every remote supposition, that such occasions may possibly fall out.

Therefore what now do we think of it? If our way, into the kingdom of God, shall be through many tribulations. If, before we behold the smiles of his blessed face, we must be entertained with the less pleasing sight of the frowning aspect, and visage of an angry world. If we first bear the image of a crucified Christ, before we partake of the likeness of a glorious God? What, do we regret the thoughts of it? Do we account we shall be ill dealt with, and have a hard bargain of it? O how tender are we grown in comparison of the hardiness and magnanimity of primitive Christians? We have not the patience to think of what they had the patience to endure. We should not yet forget ourselves, that such a thing belongs to our profession, even in this way to testify our fidelity to Christ, and our value of the inheritance, purchased by his blood, if he call us to that. We must know it is a thing inserted into the religion of Christians; and with respect to their condition in this world) made an essential to it. He cannot be a Christian, that does not deny himself, and take up the cross. How, often, when the active part of a Christian's duty is spoken of, is the passive part studiously, and expressly annexed? Let us run with patience the race that is set before us. The good ground brought forth fruit with patience. Eternal life is for them that by a patient continuance in well doing, seek after it. Indeed, and hence the word of Christ is called the word of his patience. And the style wherein the beloved disciple speaks of himself, and his profession is this; I John, a companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ. Do we mean to plead the prescription against all this? Or have we got an express exemption? Have we a discharge to show? A manumission from all the suffering part of a Christian's duty? And is it not a discharge also from being Christians as much? Will we disavow ourselves to belong to that noble society of them that through faith and patience inherit the promises? Surely we are highly conceited of ourselves, if we think we are too good to be numbered among them, of whom the world was not worthy. Or we design to ourselves a long abode here, while we so much value the world's favor, and a freedom from worldly trouble. Or eternity is with us an empty sound, and the future blessedness of saints, an airy thing, that we should reckon it insufficient to counterpoise the sufferings of a few hasty days, that will so soon have an end. It is a sad symptom of the declining state of religion, when the powers of the world to come are so overmastered, by the powers of this present world; and objects of sense so much outweigh those of faith. And is not this apparently the case with the Christians of the present age. Do not your thoughts run the same course with theirs, that meditated nothing but sitting on the right and left hand of Christ, in an earthly dominion? While they never dreamed of drinking of his cup, or being baptized, with his baptism? How many vain dreamers have we of golden mountains and (I know not what) earthly felicity? Whose pretended prophecies about a (supposed) near approaching prosperity to the church on earth, gain easier belief, or are more savory, and taking with too many; than all that the sacred oracles discover about its glorious state in heaven? Hence are our shoulders so unfitted to Christ's yoke (like the unaccustomed heifer) and the business of suffering will not enter into our hearts. Methinks the belief, and expectation of such a state hereafter, should make us even regardless of what we see, or suffer here; and render the good, or evil things of time, as indifferent to us. Yet neither plead I for an absolute stoical apathy, but for patience. A great follower of that sect acknowledges, it is not a virtue to bear what we feel not, or have no sense of. Stupidity under providence is not a Christian temper; as that moralist says of the wise man. It is not the hardness of stone or iron that is to be ascribed to him.

But lest any should run into that more dangerous mistake, to think, that by the patience we have been all this while persuading to (in the expectation of the blessedness yet to come) is meant a love of this present world, and a complacential adherence of heart to the earth, (which extreme the terrene temper of many souls, may much incline them to.) It will be necessary upon that account to add (in reference also to the yet future expected season of this blessedness) this further, and concluding instruction, namely.

That (however we are not to repine at our being held so long in this world in an expecting state: yet) we let not our souls cleave too close to their terrestrial stations, nor be too much in love with the body, and this present, low state of life on earth.

For evident it is, that notwithstanding all the miseries of this expecting state; the most are yet loath to leave the world, and have hearts sordidly hankering after present things. And surely there is much difference between being patient of an abode on earth, and being fond of it. Therefore since the true blessedness of Saints consists in such things as we have shown, and cannot be enjoyed till we awake, not within the compass of time, and this lower world. It will be very requisite to insist here a while in the prosecution of this last Rule. And what I shall say to it, shall be by way of Caution. Enforcement.

1. For Cautions; that we misapprehend not that temper and disposition of Spirit, we are in this thing to endeavour and aim at. And it especially concerns us to be cautious about the Inducements. Degree.

Of that desire of leaving this world, or contempt of this present life, which we either aspire to, or allow ourselves in.

First, Inducements. Some are desirous, others at least content, to quit the world upon very insufficient, or indeed, wicked considerations.

1. There are, who desire it, merely to be out of the way of present troubles, of which they have either too impatient a sense, or an unworthy, and impotent fear.

Many times the urgency and anguish of incumbent trouble impresses such a sense, and utters itself in such a language as that, Now, O Lord, take, I beseech you, my life from me, for it is better for me to die, than to live; or that, My soul chooses strangling and death rather than life: makes men long for death, and dig for it, as for hidden treasures; rejoice and be exceeding glad when they can find the grave.

Indeed, and the very fear of troubles that are but impending, and threatening, make some wish the Grave a Sanctuary, and render the Clods of the Valley sweet to their thoughts. They lay possibly so humorous and fanciful stress, upon the mere circumstances of dying, that they are earnest to die out of hand, to avoid dying so, and so; as the Poet would gladly persuade himself it was not Death he feared, but Shipwreck. It would not trouble them to die, but to die by a violent hand, or to be made a public spectacle; they cannot endure the thoughts of dying so. Here is nothing commendable or worthy of a Christian in all this. It were a piece of Christian bravery to dare to live in such a case, even when there is a visible likelihood, of dying, a sacrifice in the midst of flames. How much this glory was affected in the earlier days of Christianity is sufficiently known. Though, I confess, there were excesses in that kind altogether unimitable. But if God call a man forth to be his Champion, and witness, to lay down a life, in itself little desirable, in a truly worthy cause; the call of his Providence, should be as the sound of the Trumpet, to a truly Martial Spirit; it should fill his soul with a joyful courage, and sense of honour; and be complied with cheerfully, with that apprehension, and resentment, a stout Soldier would have of his General's putting him upon some very hazardous piece of service, namely he would say, My General has not (as the Moralist expresses his sense for him) deserved ill of me, but it appears he judged well. It should be counted all joy to [fall into] such trials; that is, when they become our lot by a providential disposition; not by a rash precipitation of ourselves. And as it is a wickedness inconsistent with Christianity, to be of that habitual temper, to choose to desert such a cause for the saving of life; so it is a weakness very reproachful to it; to lay down one's life in such a case, with regret as unwilling in this kind, to glorify him who laid down his for us. We are no more to die to ourselves; than to live to ourselves. Our Lord Jesus has purchased to himself a Dominion over both states of the living and dead, and whether we live we must live to him, or die we must die to him. It is the glory of a Christian to live so much above the world, that nothing in it may make him either fond of life, or weary of it.

2. There are others who are (at least) indifferent, and careless how soon they die, out of either a worse than paganish infidelity, disbelieving the concerns of another world, or a brutish stupidity not apprehending them, or a gross conceited ignorance, misunderstanding the terms of the Gospel, and thinking themselves to be in a good condition, as to eternity when the case is much otherwise with them.

Take heed your willingness to die be from no such inducements; but a mere desire of being with God, and of attaining his perfection and blessedness, which he has engaged you in the pursuit and expectation of. And then, having made sure it be right as to the rise and principle. Be careful, it be not under in point of degree. That is, a cold intermittent velleity is too little on the one hand. And a peremptory precipitant hasting is too much on the other. The middle and desirable temper here is a complacential submission to the Divine will in that affair, with a preponderating inclination on our part, towards our eternal home, if the Lord see good. For we have two things to attend in this business, and by which our Spirits may be swayed this way or that. That is, the goodness of the object to be chosen, and the will of God which must guide and over-rule our choice; the former of which we are permitted to eye in subordination to the latter, and not otherwise.

Now our apprehension of the desirableness and intrinsic goodness of the object ought to be such (we are Infidels else, if we have not that account of it) that nothing we can eye under the notion of a good to us, may be reckoned so eligible as that. Namely, our final and complete blessedness in the other world, which because, we know, we cannot enjoy without dying, death also must be judged more eligible than life, that is, our blessedness must be judged, eligible for itself, and death as requisite to make it present. So that the entire object we are discoursing of, being present blessedness, consider it in comparison with anything else, that can be looked upon by us, as a good which we ourselves are to enjoy, it ought to be preferred and chosen out of hand, inasmuch as nothing can be so great a present good to us, as that. And this ought to be the proper habitual inclination of our spirits, their constant frame and bent, as they respect only our own interest and welfare.

But considering God's dominion over us, and interest in our lives and beings; and that as well ingenuity, as necessity binds us to be subject to his pleasure, we should herein patiently suffer ourselves to be over-ruled thereby, and not so abstractly mind our own interest and contentment in this matter; as if we were altogether our own; and had no Lord over us. Plato who abounds in discourses of the desirableness of dying, and of the blessed change it makes with them that are good. Yet has this apt expression of the subjection we ought to be into the Divine pleasure as to this matter. That the soul is in the body as soldiers in a garrison, from where they may not withdraw themselves without his order and direction who placed them there? And expostulates thus. If (says he) a slave of yours should destroy his own life, without your consent would you not be displeased; and, if there had been any place left for revenge been apt enough to that too? So he brings in Socrates discoursing, and discovers himself, herein to have had more light in this matter touching that subordinate interest only, men have in their own lives, and the unlawfulness of self-murder (as he had in other things too) than most heathens of the more refined sect ever arrived to.

If therefore God would give us leave to die, we should, upon our own account, be much more inclined to choose it; but, while he thinks fit to have it deferred, should yield to his will, with an unrepining submission. Only it ought not to rest at all, on our part, or that, as to ourselves we find anything more pleasing to us in this world, that we are willing to stay a day longer in it. That for our own sakes, we should affect a continuance here; would argue a terrene sordid spirit. But then such should be our dutiful filial love to the Father of our spirits, that in pure devotedness to his interests; we would be content to dwell (if he would have it so) a Methuselah's age in an earthly tabernacle for his service; that is, that we may help to preserve his memorial in an elapsed world (over-run with atheism, and ignorance of its Maker) and win him hearts and love (to our uttermost) among his apostate disloyal creatures; and in our capacities be helpful to the encouragement of such as he continues in the world, for the same purposes. This is the very temper the Apostle expresses, when in that strait, which way the poise of his own spirit inclined him, in the consideration of his own interest; and what was simply more eligible to him. He expresses with high emphasis; to be with Christ, says he is more desirable to me (for there are two comparatives in the Greek Text) and therefore he professes his own desire in order thereto, to be dissolved; but that private desire was not so peremptory, and absolute, but he could make it yield, and give place to his duty towards God, and his Church, as it follows. So we know it is possible that, respects to a friend may oversway a man's own particular inclination; and the inclination remain notwithstanding; but is subdued only; otherwise had any reason or argument, that did respect myself persuaded me to change it; I should then follow but my own proper inclination still; and so my friend has nothing to thank me for.

So it ought to be with us here; our inclination should preponderate towards a present change of our state, only our devotedness to his interest and pleasure, whose we are, should easily over-rule it. This is the lovely temper of a gracious spirit, as to this thing, that to die might be our choice, and to live, in the mean time, submitted to as our duty.

As an ingenuous son whom his father has employed abroad in a foreign country, though duty did bind him cheerfully therein, to comply with his father's will and the necessity of his affairs, yet, when his father shall signify to him, that now he understands no necessity of his longer continuance there, and therefore he may, if he please, return but he shall have leave to follow his own inclination, it is not hard to conjecture that the desire of seeing a father's face, would soon determine the choice of such a son that way.

But how remote are the generality of them that profess themselves God's children from that pious ingenuity. We have taken root in the earth and forgotten our heavenly originals and alliances. We are as inhabitants here, not pilgrims; hardly persuaded to entertain with any patience the thoughts of leaving our places on earth; which yet, do we what we can, shall shortly know us no more.

In short then; that vile temper of spirit against which I professedly bend myself in the following discourse is; when men, not out of any sense of duty towards God, or solicitude for their own souls, but of a mere sordid love to the body, and affixedness of heart to the earth, and terrene things, cannot endure the thoughts of dying. And that, which I persuade to, is, that having the true prospect of the future blessedness before our eyes, and our hearts possessed with the comfortable hope of attaining to it, we shake off our earthly inclinations; and expect with desire and joy the time of our dismission hence, that we may enjoy it, which is the design of what was promised in the next place. Namely,

2. The enforcement of this instruction; let us suffer ourselves to be reasoned with about this matter. And let us consider whether we can in good earnest think such an aversion, as we discover, to our blessed translation hence, an excusable, a tolerable temper; or whether it be not highly reasonable, that we should entertain the thoughts, at least, with more content, and patience (if not with more fervent desire) of our departure hence, and introduction into that other state.

Let me demand of you; do you regret the thoughts of death, as being unwilling to die at all, or as being unwilling to die as yet? Is it the thing itself, or only the circumstance of time, that you except against? It is likely you will say that which will seem more plausible, and so fix only on the latter; and that you will not profess to desire an eternity on earth, but only more time. Well, let that for the present be supposed as it is a more modest, so to be a true account of your desires; yet what is the reason of this moderation with you herein? And that you so limit yourself? Is it that you believe the blessedness of the other state will prove better than anything you can enjoy here? And that you are not willing eternally to be deprived of it? But do you not think it is now better also? And what can you pretend, why, what is now the best, and most desirable good, should not be now chosen, and desired out of hand? Or is it that you think it becomes you not to cross the Supreme will of him that made you, who has determined, that all men once shall die? And then, how do you know but he has also determined concerning you, that you shall die the next day or hour? And it is only a present willingness to die in subordination to the Divine Will, or upon supposition of it, you are persuaded to. Why are you not afraid, lest your present unwillingness, should cross his present will? Do you not think that sovereign power is as sufficient to determine of the circumstance, as the thing itself? And are you not ashamed to pretend an agreement with God about the thing itself, and yet [reconstructed: differ] with him about a circumstance? Shall that be a ground of quarrel between him and you?

But while you only profess that more modest desire of more time in the world, what security can you give that when that desire has been liberally gratified, it shall at length be laid down, and tumultuate no more? What bounds will you fix to it, which you dare undertake it shall not pass? Are you sure when you shall have lain at the world's breast ten or twenty years longer, you will then imagine yourself to have drawn it dry? Or that then you shall begin to nauseate the world, and wish for Heaven? Or have you not reason from your former experience to suspect that the longer you dwell on earth, the more earthly you will grow; and that if you be indisposed to leave it this day, or year, you will be more so the next; and so your desire become boundless and infinite, which is to desire to be here always, the thing which you seemed so unwilling to own.

And if that prove at last, the true state of your case, are you then a Christian, or are you a man, that you harbor in your breast so irreligious, and irrational, indeed, so sordid a wish?

What, wish eternally to be affixed to a clod of earth? Is that at length become your God? Or will you say he is your God, whom you never desire to enjoy? Or that you have already enough of him, but not of the world? And yet that he is your God? Or would you overturn the laws of nature; and subvert the most sacred, divine constitutions, abort the designs of eternal wisdom, and love, evacuate, and nullify the great achievements of your merciful, and mighty Redeemer? Only to gratify a sensual, brutish humor?

But it is evident, you do only in vain disquiet yourself — you cannot disturb the settled order of things. Eternal laws are not repealable by a fond wish. You set that dreadful thing death at no further distance by your abhorrence of it. It will overtake you whether you will or no; and I think your own reason should instruct you to a temper and form yourself to what you cannot avoid, and possess you with such thoughts and desires, as those of that discreet pagan, "Lead me, O God," (says he) "wherever you will, and I will follow you willingly, but, if I be rebellious, and refuse, I shall follow you notwithstanding." What we cannot decline, it is better to bear willingly, than with a regret, that shall be both vain, and afflictive.

And what have you hitherto met with in the world, that should so highly endear it to you? Examine, and search more narrowly into your earthly comforts, what is there in them to make them self-desirable, or to be so for their own sakes? What is it to have your flesh indulged and pleased; to have your senses gratified? Your fancy tickled? What so great good, worthy of an immortal reasonable spirit, can you find in meats, and drinks, in full barns, and coffers, in vulgar fame, and applause, that should render these things desirable for themselves?

And if there were any real felicity in these things for the present, while you are permitted to enjoy them, yet do you not know that what you enjoy today, you may lose tomorrow, and that such other unthought of evils may [reconstructed: befall] you; as may infuse a bitterness into all you enjoy, which causes, immediately, the enjoyment to cease, while the things themselves remain, and will be equal to a total loss of all?

And thus (as the moralist ingeniously speaks) you will continually need another happiness to defend the former, and new wishes must still be made on the behalf of those which have already succeeded.

But can you indeed think it worth the while, that the Maker of the Universe should create a soul, and send it down into the world on purpose, to superintend these trivial affairs, to keep alive a silly piece of well-figured earth, while it eats, and drinks; to move it to and fro in chase of shadows; to hold it up, while others bow the knee, and do it homage, if it had not some higher work to mind in reference to another state? Are you contented to live long in the world, to such purposes? What low, worthless spirit is this, that had rather be so employed, than in the visions of this Maker's face? That chooses thus to entertain itself on earth, rather than partake the effusions of divine glory above. That had rather creep with worms, than soar with angels, associate with brutes, than with the spirits of just men made perfect, who can solve the phenomenon, or give a rational account why there should be such a creature as man upon the earth, abstracting from the hopes of another world? Who can think it the effect of an infinite wisdom? Or account it a more worthy design, than the representing of such a scene of actions and affairs by puppets on a stage? For my part, upon the strictest inquiry, I see nothing in the life of man upon earth, that should render it for itself, more the matter of a rational election (supposing the free option given him in the first moment of his being) than presently again to cease to be the next moment.

Indeed, is there not enough obvious in every man's experience, to incline him rather to the contrary choice; and, supposing a future blessedness in another world, to make him passionately desirous (with submission to the divine pleasure) of a speedy dismission into it? Do not the burdens that press us in this earthly tabernacle, teach our very sense, and urge oppressed nature, into involuntary groans, while as yet our consideration does intervene? And if we do consider, is not every thought, a sting? Making a much deeper impression, than what only touches our flesh and bones? Who can reflect upon his present state, and not presently be in pangs? The troubles that follow humanity are many and great; those that follow Christianity, more numerous, and grievous. The sickness, pains, losses, disappointments, and whatever afflictions that are in the Apostle's language, humane, or common to men (as are all the external sufferings of Christians in nature, and kind, though they are liable to them upon an account peculiar to themselves, which there the Apostle intimates) are none of our greatest evils; yet even upon the account of them, have we any reason to be so much in love with so unkind a world? Is it not strange our very Bridewell should be such a heaven to us? But these things are little considerable in comparison of the more spiritual grievances of Christians as such, that is, those that afflict our souls, while we are (under the conduct of Christ) designing for a blessed eternity; if we indeed make that our business, and do seriously intend our spirits in order thereto. The darkness of our beclouded minds! The glimmering, ineffectual apprehension we have of the most important things! The inconsistency of our shattered thoughts, when we would apply them to spiritual objects. The great difficulty of working off an ill frame of heart, and the no less difficulty of retaining a good! Our being so frequently tossed as between heaven and hell; when we sometimes think ourselves to have even attained, and hope to descend no more; and are, all on a sudden plunged in the ditch, so as that our own clothes might abhor us, fall so low into an earthly temper that we can like nothing heavenly, or divine; and because we cannot, are enforced justly, most of all to dislike ourselves. Are these things little with us? How can we forbear to cry out of the depths, to the Father of our spirits, that he would pity, and relieve his own offspring? Indeed, are we not weary of our crying? And yet more weary of holding in? How do repelled temptations return again? And vanquished corruptions recover strength? We know not when our work is done. We are miserable that we need to be always watching, and more miserable, that we cannot watch, but are so often surprised and overcome of evil. We say sometimes with ourselves we will seek relief in retirement; but we cannot retire from ourselves, or in converse with godly friends, but they sometimes prove snares to us, and we to them. Or we hear, but our own miseries repeated in their complaints. Would we pray? How faint is the breath we utter? How long is it before we can get our souls possessed with any becoming apprehensions of God, or lively sense of our own concerns? Would we meditate? We sometimes go about to compose our thoughts, but we may as well assay to hold the winds in our fist. If we venture forth into the world, how do our senses betray us? How are we mocked with their impostures? Their nearer objects become with us the only realities, and eternal things are all vanished into airy shadows. Reason and faith are laid asleep, and our sense dictates to us what we are to believe, and do, as if it were our only guide, and Lord. And what, are we not yet weary? Is it reasonable to continue in this state of our own choice? Is misery become so natural to us, so much our element, that we cannot affect to live out of it? Is the darkness and dirt of a dungeon more grateful to us than a free open air and sun. Is this flesh of ours so lovely a thing that we had rather suffer so many deaths in it, than one in putting it off and mortality with it? While we carry it about us, our souls impart a kind of life to it, and it gives them death in exchange. Why do we not cry out more feelingly, O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of death? Is it not grievous to us to have so cumbersome a yoke-fellow, to be tied (as Mezentius is said to have done) the living and the dead together.

Do not we find the distempers of our spirits are mostly from these bodies we are so in love with, either as the proper springs, or as the occasion of them. From what cause is our drowsy sloth, our eager passions, our aversion to spiritual objects but from this impure flesh, or what else is the subject about which our vexatious cares, or torturing fears, our bitter griefs are taken up day by day.

And why do we not consider that it is only our love to it that gives strength and vigor to the most of our temptations as wherein it is more immediately concerned, and which makes them so often victorious, and from there to become our after-afflictions. He that has learned to mortify the inordinate love of the body, will he make it the business of his life to purvey for it? Will he offer violence to his own soul, to secure it from violence? Will he comply with men's lusts and humors for its advantage, and accommodation? Or yield himself to the tyranny of his own avarice for its future, or of his more-sensual lusts for its present content? Will it not rather be pleasing to him that his outward man be exposed to perish while his inward man is renewed day by day? He to whom the thoughts are grateful of laying it down, will not (though he neglect not duty towards it) spend his days in its continual service, and make his soul a hell, by a continual provision for the flesh, and the lusts of it. That is cruel love that shall enslave a man and subject him to so vile and ignoble a servitude. And it discovers a sordid temper to be so imposed upon. How low are our spirits sunk that we disdain not so base a vassalage? God and nature have obliged us to live in bodies for a time, but they have not obliged us to measure ourselves by them, to confine our desires and designs to their compass, to look no further than their concernments, to entertain no previous joys in the hope of being one day delivered from them. No such hard law is laid upon us. But how apt are we to become herein, a most oppressive law to ourselves; and not only to lodge in filthy earthen cottages but to love them, and confine ourselves to them, loath so much as to peep out. It is the apt expression of a philosopher upbraiding [reconstructed: that] base low temper. The degenerate soul (says he) buried in the body is as a slothful creeping thing, that loves its hole, and is loath to come forth.

And, methinks if we have no love for our better and more noble self, we should not be altogether unapprehensive of an obligation upon us, to express a dutiful love to the Author of our beings — does it consist with the love we owe to him, to desire always to lurk in the dark, and never come into his blessed presence? Is that our love that we never care to come near him? Do we not know that while we are present in the body, we are absent from the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:6, 8)? Should we not therefore be willing rather to be present with the Lord, and absent from the body? Should we not put on a confidence, a holy fortitude (as it is there expressed we are confident, or of good courage, and then willing, etc.) that might carry us through the grave to him. As is the brave speech of that last mentioned philosopher: God will call you before long, expect his call. Old age will come upon you, and show you the way there, and death which he that is possessed with a base fear, laments and dreads as it draws on; but he that is a lover of God, expects it with joy, and with courage, meets it when it comes.

Is our love to God so faint and weak, that it dares not encounter death, nor venture upon the imaginary terrors of the grave to go to him? How unsuitable is this to the character which is given of a saint's love? And how expressly are we told, that he who loves his life better than Christ, or that even hates it not for his sake (as certainly he cannot be said to do, that is not willing to part with it to enjoy him) cannot be his disciple? If our love to God be not supreme, it is none; or not such as can denominate us lovers of him; and will we pretend to be so, when we love a putrid flesh, and this base earth better than him? And have we not professedly, as a fruit of our avowed love to him, surrendered ourselves? Are we not his devoted ones? Will we be his, and yet our own? Or pretend ourselves dedicated to his holy pleasure, and will yet be at our own dispose, and so dispose of ourselves too, as that we may be most ungrateful to him? And most incapable of converse with him? How does this love of a perishing life and of a little animated clay stop all the effusions of the love of God, suspends its sweet and pleasant fruits, which should be always exerting themselves towards him? Where is their fear, obedience, joy, and praise, who are through the fear of death all their lives subject to bondage? And kept under a continual dismal expectation of an unavoidable dissolution! But must the great God lose his due acknowledgements because we will not understand wherein he deals well with us? Is his mercy therefore no mercy? As we cannot nullify his truth by our unbelief, so nor his goodness by our disesteem. But yet consider — does it not better become you to be grateful, than repine that God will one day unbind your soul and set you free? Knock off your fetters and deliver you out of the house of your bondage? Could you upon deliberate thoughts judge it tolerable, should he doom you to this earth forever? He has however judged otherwise (as the Pagan Emperor and philosopher excellently speaks) who is the Author both of the first composition of your present being, and now of the dissolution of it; you were the cause of neither, therefore depart and be thankful — for he that dismisses you, deals kindly with you. If yet you understand it not, yet remember: it is your Father that disposes thus of you, how unworthy is it to distrust his love? What child would be afraid to compose itself to sleep in the parent's bosom? It expresses nothing of the duty and ingenuity, but much of the frowardness and folly of a child. They sometimes cry vehemently in the undressing; but should their cries be regarded by the most indulgent parent? Or are they fit to be imitated by us?

We have no excuse for this our frowardness. The blessed God has told us his gracious purpose concerning us; and we are capable of understanding him. What if he had totally hidden from us our future state; and that we know nothing, but of going into an eternal silent darkness? The authority of a Creator ought to have awed us into a silent submission; but when we are told of such a glory; that it is but drawing aside this fleshly veil, and we presently behold it, methinks the blessed hour should be expected not with patience only but with ravishing joy.

Did we hear of a country in this world, where we might live in continual felicity, without toil, or sickness, or grief, or fear, who would not wish to be there; though the passage were troublesome? Have we not heard enough of Heaven to allure us there? Or is the eternal truth of suspected credit with us? Are God's own reports of the future glory unworthy our belief or regard?

How many, upon the credit of his word are gone already triumphantly into glory? That only seeing the promises afar off, were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and never after owned themselves under any other notion, than of pilgrims on earth, longing to be at home in their most desirable heavenly country. We are not the first that are to open Heaven. The main body of saints is already there, it is in comparison of their number, but a scattering remnant, that are now alive upon the earth. How should we long to be associated to that glorious assembly? Methinks we should much more regret our being so long left behind.

But if we should desire still to be so, why may not all others as well as we? And as much expect to be gratified as we? And then we should agree in desiring, that our Redeemer's triumph might be deferred, that his body might yet remain incomplete, that he might still be debarred of the long expected fruit of the travail of his soul. That the name of God might be still subjected to the blasphemy and reproach of an atheistical world, who have long ago said, with derision, where is the promise of his coming? Would we have all his designs to be still unfinished? And so mighty wheels stand still for us, while we sport ourselves in the dust of the earth? And indulge our sensual inclination; which sure this bold desire must argue to be very predominant in us, and take heed it argue not its habitual prevalency.

At least if it discover not our present sensuality, it discovers our former sloth and idleness. It may be, we may excuse our averseness to die, by our unpreparedness, that is one fault with another (though that be besides the case I am speaking of) what then have we been doing all this while? What were the affairs of your soul not thought of till now? Take then your reproof from a heathen, that it may convince you the more. No one, says he divides away his money from himself, but yet men divide away their very life — But does it not shame you (he after adds) to reserve only the reliques of your life to yourself, and to devote that time only to a good mind, which you cannot employ upon any other thing? How late is it to begin to live when we should make an end? And [reconstructed: defer] all good thoughts to such an age as possibly few do ever reach to. The truth is (as he speaks) we have not little time but we lose much we have time enough were it well employed therefore we cannot say we receive a short life but we make it so, we are not indigent of time, but prodigal. What a pretty contradiction is it to complain of the shortness of time, and yet do what we can to precipitate its course? To hasten it by that we call pastime. If it have been so with you, are you to be trusted with more time?

But as your case is I cannot wonder that the thoughts of death be most unwelcome to you, who are you that you should desire the day of the Lord? I can only say to you hasten your preparation, have recourse to Rule 2 and third, and accordingly guide yourself till you find your spirit made more suitable to this blessedness; that it become savory and grateful to your soul, and your heart be set upon it. Hence you may be reconciled to the grave, and the thoughts of death may cease to be a terror to you.

And when you are attained so far, consider your great advantage in being willing and desirous to die upon this further account, that your desire shall now be pitched upon a thing so certain. Your other desires have met with many a disappointment. You have set your heart upon other things, and they have deceived your most earnest, thirsty expectations. Death will not do so. You will now have one certain hope. One thing in reference to which you may say, I am sure. Wait a while, this peaceful sleep will shortly seize your body, and awaken your soul. It will calmly bring to an end all your troubles, and bring you to a blessed rest.

But now, if only the mere terror and gloominess of dying, trouble your thoughts, this of all other, seems the most inconsiderable pretense against a willing surrender of ourselves to death. Reason has overcome it, natural courage, indeed, some men's atheism — shall not faith? Are we not ashamed to consider what confidence, and desire of death, some heathens have expressed? Some that have had no preapprehension, or belief of another state, (though there were very few of them) and so no hope of a consequent blessedness to relieve them, have yet thought it unreasonable to be disgusted by the thoughts of death. What would you think if you had nothing but the sophisms of such to oppose to all your dismal thoughts? I have met with one arguing thus — Death which is accounted the most dreadful of all evils, is nothing to us (says he) because while we are in being, death is not yet present, and when death is present, we are not in being; so that it neither concerns us, as living, nor dead; for while we are alive, it has not touched us, when we are dead, we are not — Moreover (says he) the exquisite knowledge of this, that death belongs not to us, makes us enjoy this mortal life with comfort, not by adding anything to our uncertain time, but by taking away the desire of immortality. Shall they comfort themselves upon so wretched a ground, with a little sophistry, and the hope of extinguishing all desire of immortality? And shall not we, by cherishing the blessed hope of enjoying shortly an immortal glory?

Others of them have spoken magnificently of a certain contempt of this bodily life, and a not only not fearing, but desiring to die, upon a [reconstructed: fixed] apprehension of the distinct, and purer and immortal nature of the soul; and the preconceived hope of a consequent felicity. I shall set down some of their words, added to what have been occasionally mentioned (among that plentiful variety with which one might fill a volume) purposely to shame the more terrene temper of many Christians.

The soul, (says one of them) is an invisible thing, and is going into another place, suitable to itself, that is noble, and pure, and invisible, even into Hades, indeed to the good and wise God, whether also my soul shall shortly go if he see good. But this (he says in what follows) belongs only to such a soul as goes out of the body pure, that draws nothing corporal along with it, did not willingly communicate with the body in life, but did even fly from it, and gather up itself into itself, always meditating this one thing. A soul so affected, shall it not go to something like itself, divine, (and what is divine, is immortal and wise) whether, when it comes, it becomes blessed, free from error, ignorance, fears, and wild (or enormous) loves, and all other evils incident to men.

One writing the life of that rare person Plotinus says, that he seemed, as if he were in some sort ashamed, that he was in body, which (however it would less become a Christian; yet) in one that knew nothing of an incarnate Redeemer, it discovered a refined, noble spirit.

The same person speaks almost the language of the Apostle, concerning his being rapt up into the third heaven, and tells of such an alienation of the soul from the body.

That when once it finds God (whom he had before been speaking of under the name of the [in non-Latin alphabet] or the beauty) shining in upon it, it now no longer feels its body, or takes notice of its being in the body, but even forgets its own being, that it is a man, or a living creature, or any thing else whatever, for it is not at leisure to mind any thing else, nor does it desire to be: Indeed, and having sought him out, he immediately meets it, presenting its self to him. It only views him instead of itself — and would not now change its state for any thing, not if one could give it the whole heaven in exchange.

And, elsewhere, discussing, whether life in the body be good and desirable yes or no, he concludes it to be good, not as it is a union of the soul and body; but as it may have that virtue annexed to it, by which, what is really evil may be kept off. But yet, that that death is a greater good. That life in the body is in itself evil, but the soul is by virtue stated in goodness; not as enlivening the body, with which it is compounded, but as it severs, and so joins itself from it; meaning so, as to have as little communion as possible it can with it. To which purpose is the expression of another; That the soul of a happy man so collects and gathers up itself out from all things into itself, that it has as it were, separated itself from the body, while it is yet contained in it — and that it was possessed of that fortitude, as not to dread its departure from it.

Another gives this character of a good man, that as he lived in simplicity, tranquility, purity, not being offended at any that they believed him not to live so, he also comes to the end of his life, pure, quiet, and easy to be dissolved, disposing himself, without any constraint to his lot.

Another is brought in, speaking thus. If God should grant me to become a child again, to send forth my renewed infant-cries from my cradle, and, having even run out my race, to begin it again; I should most earnestly refuse it; for what profit has this life? And how much toil? — Yet I do not repent that I have lived, because, I hope, I have not lived in vain. And I now go out of this life, not as out of my dwelling house, but my inn. O blessed day, when I shall enter into that council and assembly of souls, and depart from this rude, and disorderly rout, and crew, &c.

I shall add another (of a not much unlike strain and rank) that discoursing who is the heir of divine things, (as being either not an open or no constant friend to Christianity) says, he cannot be, who is in love with this animal, sensitive life; but only that purest mind, that is inspired from above, that partakes of a heavenly, and divine portion; that only despises the body, &c. with much more of like import.

Indeed, so have some been transported with the desire of immortality, that (being wholly ignorant of the sin of self-murder) they could not forbear doing violence to themselves.

Among the Indians, two thousand years ago, were a sort of wise men, as they were called, that held it a reproach to die of age, or a disease, and were wont to burn themselves alive, thinking the flames were polluted, if they came amidst them dead.

The story of Cleombrotus is famous, who hearing Plato discourse of the immortality of the soul, by the sea side, leapt from him into the sea, that he might presently be in that state. And it is storied that Nero refused to put Apollonius to death, though he were very much incensed against him, only upon the apprehension he had, that he was very desirous to die, because he would not so far gratify him.

I only make this improvement of all this, Christian principles and rule do neither hurry, nor misguide men; but the end (as we have it revealed) should much more powerfully, and constantly attract us. Nothing is more unsuitable to Christianity our way, nor to that blessedness, the end of it, than an earthly spirit. They have nothing of the true light, and imprint of the Gospel, now; nor are they ever like to attain the vision of the blessed face of God, and the imprint of his likeness hereafter, that desire it not above all things; and are not willing to quit all things else for it.

And is it not a just reproach of our earthliness, and carnality, if mere philosophers, and pagans, shall give better proof than we, of a spirit erected above the world, and alienated from what is temporary, and earthly? Shall their Gentilism outdo our Christianity? It seems to me a generous indignation of this reproach should inflame our souls, and contribute somewhat to the refining of them to a better and more spiritual temper.

Now therefore, O all you that name yourselves by that worthy name of Christians; that profess the religion taught by him, that was not of the earth, earthly, but the Lord from heaven; you that are partakers of the heavenly calling. Consider the great Apostle and High-priest of your profession; who only took our flesh, that we might partake of his Spirit; bear our earthly, that we might bear his heavenly image; descended, that he might cause us to ascend. Seriously bethink yourselves of the scope and end of his apostleship and priesthood. He was sent out from God to invite and conduct you to him, to bring you into the communion of his glory and blessedness. He came upon a message and treaty of peace. To discover his Father's love and win yours. To let you know how kind thoughts the God of love had conceived toward you. And that, however you had hated him without cause, and were bent to do so without end; he was not so affected towards you. To settle a friendship and to admit you to the participation of his eternal glory. Indeed he came to give an instance, and exemplify to the world in his own Person how much of heaven he could make to dwell in mortal flesh: how possible he could render it to live in this world, as unrelated to it, how gloriously the divine life could triumph over all the infirmities of frail humanity. And so leave men a certain proof and pledge, to what perfections human nature should be improved by his grace and Spirit, in all them that should resign themselves to his conduct, and follow his steps. That heaven and earth were not so far asunder, but he knew how to settle a commerce and intercourse between them. That an heavenly life was possible to be transacted here, and certain to be gloriously rewarded hereafter.

And having testified these things, he seals the testimony; and opens the way for the accomplishment of all by his death. Your heavenly Apostle, becomes a priest, and a sacrifice at once. That no doubt might remain among men of his sincerity, in what, even dying he ceased not to profess, and avow. And that by his own propitiatory blood a mutual reconciliation might be wrought between God and you; that your hearts might be won to him, and possessed with an ingenuous shame of your ever having been his enemies. And that his displeasure might for ever cease towards you, and be turned into everlasting friendship and love. That eternal redemption being obtained, heaven might be opened to you, and you finally, be received to the glory of God. Your hearts being bent in that direction and made willing to run through whatever difficulties of life or death to attain it. Do not think that Christ came into the world, and died to procure the pardon of your sins; and so translate you to heaven; while your hearts should still remain cleaving to the earth. He came, and returned to prepare a way for you, and then call, not drag you there. That by his precepts, and promises, and example and Spirit, he might form and fashion your souls to that glorious state. And make you willing to abandon all things for it. And lo, now the God of all grace is calling you by Jesus Christ to his eternal glory. Direct then your eyes and hearts to that mark, the Prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. It is ignominious by the common suffrage of the civilized world not to intend the proper business of our callings. To your calling to forsake this world, and mind the other, make haste then to quit yourselves of your entanglements, of all earthly dispositions and affections. Learn to live in this world as those that are not of it; that expect, every day and wish to leave it whose hearts are gone already.

It is dreadful to die with pain and regret; To be forced out of the body; To die a violent death and go away with an unwilling reluctant heart. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness. Fain he would stay longer, but cannot. He has not power over the Spirit, to retain the Spirit nor has he power in death. He must away whether he will or no. And indeed much against his will. So it cannot but be where there is not a previous knowledge and love of a better state, where the soul understands it not, and is not effectually attempered and framed to it.

O get then the lovely image of the future glory into your minds, keep it ever before your eyes. Make it familiar to your thoughts. Imprint daily there these words. I shall behold your face, I shall be satisfied with your likeness. And see that your souls be enriched with that righteousness, Have inwrought into them that holy rectitude, that may dispose them to that blessed state. Then will you die with your own consent, and go away, not driven, but allured, and drawn. You will go, as the redeemed of the Lord, with everlasting joy upon their heads. As those that know where you go, even to a state infinitely worthy of your desires, and choice, and where it is best for you to be. You will part with your souls, not by a forcible separation, but a joyful surrender and resignation. They will dislodge from this earthly tabernacle, rather as putting it off, than having it rent and torn away.

Loosen yourselves from this body by degrees, as we do any thing we would remove from a place where it sticks fast. Gather up your spirits into themselves. Teach them to look upon themselves, as distinct thing. Inure them to the thoughts of a dissolution. Be continually as taking leave. Cross, and disprove the common maxim; and let your hearts, which they use to say, are wont to die last, die first. Prevent death, and be mortified toward every earthly thing beforehand; that death may have nothing to kill but your body. And that you may not die a double death in one hour; and suffer the death of your body, and of your love to it, both at once. Much less that this should survive, to your greater (and even incurable) misery.

Shake off your bands and fetters, the earthly affections, that so closely confine you to the house of your bondage. And lift up your heads in expectation of the approaching Jubilee, the day of your redemption; when you are to go out free, and enter into the glorious liberty of the Sons of God. When you shall serve, and groan, and complain no longer. Let it be your continual song, and the matter of your daily praise; that the time of your happy deliverance is hastening on; that before long you shall be absent from the body, and present with the Lord. That he has not doomed you to an everlasting imprisonment within those close and clayey walls; wherein you have been so long shut up from the beholding of his sight and glory. In the thoughts of this, while the outward man is sensibly perishing, let the inward revive, and be renewed day by day. What prisoner would be sorry to see the walls of his prison house (so a heathen speaks) mouldering down, and the hopes arriving to him of being delivered out of that darkness that had buried him, of recovering his liberty, and enjoying the free air, and light. What champion inured to hardship, would stick to throw off rotten rags, and rather expose a naked, placid, free body, to naked, placid, free air? The truly generous soul (to be a little above) never leaves the body against its will. ([reconstructed: Max. Tyr. Dissert. 41])

Rejoice that it is the gracious pleasure of your good God, you shall not always inhabit a dungeon, nor lie amidst so impure and disconsolate darkness; that he will shortly exchange your filthy garments, for those of Salvation and Praise. The end approaches. As you turn over these leaves, so are your days turned over. And as you are now arrived to the end of this book, God will shortly write Finis, to the Book of your Life on Earth; and show you your names written in Heaven, in the Book of that Life which shall never end.

FINIS.