Who never saw death, and yet died? To be dead without having seen death seems absurd. Yet the question is not as foolish as it seems. Are there really persons who have died, although their dying hour has not arrived?
You are of the number if you have put on Christ. It is to you the apostle addresses the words in Colossians 3:3, “Ye are dead.” You have survived yourself; you stood by your dying bed and are able to visit your own grave.
You reply, “Where did I die?” Do you really not know? It is the mount on which your Head suffered death. The Scriptures call those who belong to Christ “crucified with Him,” and dead and buried with Him.
Look to Calvary. What is it there that falls upon the Holy One of Israel? It comes like a monster on the wings of night. It comes with a thousand terrors and torments; the wrath of the Almighty is its escort; exulting devils are in its train. It can do as it pleases with the Man on the cross. No consoling angel stands at His side; no shield from on high defends Him against this rage. He is forsaken of God and of all the world. What hideous monster is this? Death is its name. And whose is the death which Christ dies? It is not His; it is your death and mine. We therefore endured it in Him. We are dead in Him, legally dead–so dead that we now see our old man inscribed in the book of the dead, and reckon him as no longer existing in the sight of God. This is the ground on which we triumphantly exclaim, “Death, where is thy sting! Grave, where is thy victory!” If we firmly occupied this position on the rock of truth, we should see the horrors of death and the grave dispelled. Death lies behind us. “We are dead.”
The narrative in 2 Kings 4:38-41 presents this picture for our help. On the road to Gilgal we meet the man of God, Elisha. You know the town of Gilgal; it lay in the vale of Jordan, not far from Jericho. Here stood a school of the prophets in the midst of a degraded and idolatrous race. From Gilgal we accompanied Elijah to his crowning festival in the desert.
A dreadful dearth has befallen the land. The fields lie scorched, as if under the curse; the sickles hang rusting on the walls. Even the sons of the prophets share in the distress.
Elisha enters Gilgal. The poor are in desperate straits and their wealthier fellow-citizens feel sooner inclined to ask them in mockery, “Where is now your God?” than to extend to them a helping hand.
What advantage have the righteous now over the wicked? How often do we meet on earth with this strange spectacle! Indeed it not infrequently happens that the children of God suffer more severely than the children of the world. Yet you need only look a little deeper into the matter to discover an infinite difference between the state of those who serve God and those who tread the path of death.
How differently does the same cloud of trouble descend on you, and on those that are without! To the latter it is the shadow of death, of care, anxiety, and despair. To you, it approaches like the cloud above the ark of the covenant, in which your Lord draws near you, in order to breathe into your heart strength to endure and to whisper His consolation.
Even days of trouble have their pleasing intervals which they bring disguised under the gloomy mantle of sorrow. Then the spices of the divine promises yield their perfume. Scripture passages, which in brighter days were either unheeded or unappreciated, burn now in our hemisphere, as wondrous luminaries shining brightly in our black sky.
Elisha expelled care from the circle of his beloved pupils by saying to his servant, “Set on the great pot, and seethe pottage for the sons of the prophets.” But there were no longer any vegetables at hand. One of the pupils, therefore, hastened out into the fields to see if he could find something even half edible. You probably think that God would have left some little plant for them. So one would imagine. “Surely He will conduct the man to the right place, and guide his hands and feet.” What is more natural than to think this?
The man’s eye falls on a luxuriant creeper bearing healthy-looking gourds. He collects them into his vest. The poor man hasn’t made a mistake, has he? Would God, whose child he is, permit it? He hastens home, and immediately begins to shred the gourd into the pot, not imagining that he was shredding poison for the pottage. Could God see this without preventing it? God allowed it to be so. But wasn’t that cruel? Hush! His name is “Wonderful.” Restrain your judgment till His ways have reached their termination.
The pottage is served. The brethren take their seats unsuspectingly at the table. Are they divinely warned? No, the Lord permits it. But scarcely have they tasted the fatal food when its unhappy effects manifest themselves. They think they are enduring the pangs of death. They rise up with pitiable gestures from their seats and exclaim, “O man of God, there is death in the pot!”
The most filial faith might have suffered shipwreck from such an occurrence. But when the Lord acts strangely like this toward His people, He does so primarily to prepare a place for the triumph and glorification of His delivering grace.
What would have been the result if death had really been in the pot? In a few moments they would have sat down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob at the heavenly table, and would have been forever delivered from care and distress. But an evil cramp contracted the eye of their faith, and they saw nothing of this. The eye of unbelieving nature alone was open in them and hence they found themselves, as it were, in a masquerade, where they perceived the most friendly forms in the most horrible caricatures and disguises.
If our brethren under Moses were not always able triumphantly to greet the approach of the last hour, it was pardonable in them because of the clouds which threw obscurity around it. But if we, who enjoy the opened heavens of the New Testament and the express declarations of the Saviour, can still exhibit symptoms of childish cowardice at the approach of this liberator, we surely have forgotten how we are armed against this strong man. Graves have been forced to open themselves before us in order to prove that they are only resting- places; glorified saints have descended from heaven to earth that we might see with our eyes that death only transfers us to a better state. The world to come is not a dream but a reality, even more so than the present.
But why should I describe this being armed against death as if death’s approach were a hostile attack? Is it a warlike invasion when someone draws near to break open my prison doors that I may hasten into the open air? Ought we to cling to a post when a solemn procession is approaching to place on our heads the crown of life? And in order that our hope might have a more than sufficient basis, our own Saviour soared before our eyes, with our flesh and blood through the heavens and left behind Him the joyful assertion, “I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there ye may be also” (Jn. 14:3). It is therefore not against death that I have to prepare myself. I have only to arm myself against the devil lest he disguise the true form of death.
It is, however, natural that a Christian should feel strangely when death comes knocking. What a step it is from one world into another! What a transition, in the twinkling of an eye, from the deathbed into the presence of the highly exalted Jehovah and the company of holy angels! How can he avoid feeling peculiarly at such a moment, or his heart refrain from beating highly at the approach of such a crisis? But if it beat more from any other cause than from sacred anticipation, he mistakes his position and has abandoned his post.
A Christian who is unwilling to die breaks his word. What did we engage in, when we united ourselves to the Lord? The world then lost us–we even became lost to ourselves. Our prayer was, “Lord, do with me as Thou wilt!” And we yielded up body and soul to our Deliverer with an unconditional surrender. But now that He desires to avail Himself of the right over us which we have resigned to Him, and accomplish His gracious will in us, do we withdraw in fear? At our conversion, we died; at the moment of death, He graciously accepts the offering. How reasonable is it, therefore, that we should greet our dying hour as a festive season! Our dying is a being called away by God. No one dies by chance, but at the moment when he ought to die, neither sooner nor later. Our death is not a consequence of sickness or the sword, but is of God. An eternal decree regulates our entrance into life, and our departure out of it. And when your hour arrives, what takes place? A voice of love and maternal affection exclaims, “Return, ye children of men!” and who would be unwilling to obey?
Death, as you know, stands in the inventory of the things belonging to the children of God. Paul assures us that “Death is yours.” It belongs to us, not we to it. It is to me like Samson’s lion, of which it is written, “Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness” (Jud. 14:14).
Death delivers us from sin, the most horrible of all abominations. As long as we walk here below we are connected with a dead carcass. We cannot prevent accursed thoughts from springing up in our hearts continually, as sparks from the fire. Sin, though forgiven, still cleaves to us and oppresses us. We wish to pray; but our hearts are like a lute unstrung. We would gladly weep; but our eyes are like clouds without water. The flesh continually lusts against the spirit. Hence death is the last and best physician, who heals all our wounds, and infirmities–the sick head, and the faint and diseased heart. Sin was the parent of death; death is the grave which again swallows up sin. The death of the body annihilates the body of death. It strips us of our filthy garments in order that it may cover us with the sumptuous robe of immortality.
When old Jacob saw the chariots which Joseph had sent to bring him to Goshen, it is said that the old man’s spirit revived. Such ought to be the influence on the Christian in anticipation of his last hour. Death is to him only a chariot like Elijah’s. Impelled forward by the wind of grace, it steers to golden shores. “The day of death,” says Solomon, “is better than the day of one’s birth.” It is the ascension day of the Christian, the birth day of his real life. Death is his gain, his greatest advancement, in which he rises from his weaknesses into a state of perfection and eternal brightness.
Death is to the Christian a splendidly attired herald who invites him to the heavenly marriage, who escorts him where he shall behold Him without a veil. He will bask in the smile of His countenance. Every desire shall then be satisfied, every sense find sweet employment– the understanding, with the light of the most perfect wisdom; the heart, with the ability to love according to its utmost desire; the will, with the most unlimited power of accomplishment; and the whole soul, with the delightful consciousness that these joys will never end.
Hence, how little did it become the saints at Gilgal, when thinking that death had seized upon them, to utter such a cry of horror! There are other occasions when such an outcry would be quite in place. Where a path to heaven is taught us, which leads away from Calvary; where a theology seeks to establish its pretensions, which is without Christ; there we ought to shrink back with horror and exclaim, “There is death in the pot.” Poisoned dishes are then really served up; and he who allows himself to be induced to eat of it swallows down eternal death, against which there is no remedy.
No table is more amply provided in the present day than the realm of literature. How it is to be regretted that this has become, in great measure, the devil’s laboratory, even when its products bear the symbol of the cross. “Death in the pot” might be inscribed on whole libraries, and the same inscription, alas! might justly be placed over the doors of many schools and churches.
Let us return to Gilgal. The state of the sons of the prophets is certainly desperate. They were in want; they trusted in Him who feeds the young ravens; they exulted at their happy discovery; but it proves to be destructive poison. In eating the pernicious food, they also swallowed the germ of death to their childlike confidence in the Lord; and it was this death, more than any other, which forced from them the anxious cry.
Jehovah, however, had kind and faithful intentions towards them. The extremely painful situation in which they were placed was only destined to set off the more gloriously His delivering mercy. The more furious the storm, the more pleasing the sunshine afterwards.
The prophet has already received his instructions. God is willing to help. If anyone rejoices at it, it is Elisha. His distress was not small, but the storm of his feelings, instead of repelling him from God, impelled him directly upwards. His confidence in the Lord told him that the brethren would not die, but live. What a loss for the world if they had; what a triumph for Satan and his idolatrous adherents!
Doubtless, the alarming cry, “There is death in the pot!” would have been replied to by hell with a loud cry of “Victory!” But the powers of darkness experience vexation in which the acclamations of victory are choked in the utterance because in an instant the whole aspect of things is changed, and the supposed victory is manifested to be a total defeat. This is incessantly the case in their operations against the children of God. Triumphing, they succumb, while the believers in succumbing, conquer.
lisha asks for a little meal. Who would think that such a trifling remedy would be able to destroy death! But the prophet orders it in the name of the Lord. And what power does the most inconsiderable means acquire when connected with the Word of God! A dish of salt is then sufficient to remove the desolation of bitter springs. A tree makes the wells of Marah sweet. A little clay made with spittle restores sight to a man born blind. The healing power of every medicine depends on one ingredient, which must not be lacking–the blessing of God. Without the latter, the most deeply-studied prescription is unavailing. But if the Word be added, the substratum is of little importance.
The children of the prophets did not stumble at the trifling nature of the remedy. It is God’s method to make inferior things the vehicles of His miraculous power. He that despises what is inconsiderable is not fit for the kingdom of God. Our King was born in a stable and crowned with thorns. Fishermen and publicans appeared as the administrators of the Supreme Majesty; and a mere word, devoid of every rhetorical adornment, professes to be the voice of Jehovah.
The brethren soon return with the meal which had been desired. Elisha takes the meal and casts it into the pot, without any pomp or ceremony, but full of confidence in Him who is equally able to help by small things as by great. He then orders his attendant to pour out to the people that they may eat. The disciples feel no more hesitation, but eat of it in good faith. And faith is never put to shame; it is crowned. It is only put to shame when based on the individual’s own strength; he that believes in God shall see the glory of God.
When the brethren ate of it, the narrative informs us “there was no harm in the pot.” The soup was savory and wholesome, and whatever they had swallowed of a poisonous nature had lost its baneful quality. Thus a handful of meal was a sufficient means in the Almighty’s hand to break the power of death, to destroy the triumph of hell, and to preserve to the world His servants on the earth. Let no one ever be dismayed who knows that such a God is on his side. He is a living God, who does as He pleases with the powers of both heaven and earth. God has reserved to Himself more than the office of a mere overlooker of the things which He has made; He works in a free and effectual manner, and changes laws, powers, and qualities at His pleasure.
Thus, what was later expressly promised to believers in Christ’s name was experienced by those at Gilgal. “If they drink any deadly thing,” said the Saviour, “it shall not hurt them.” In a spiritual sense, this is unconditionally fulfilled in all the children of God. For them there is nothing any longer destructive, baneful, or soul-slaying. Even where a thing is all this according to its nature, for the Christian a miraculous antidote is deposited in it so that not only is there nothing that can injure him, but everything works together for his good. Every ordeal terminates in such a manner that he is not only able to bear it, but is even constrained to praise God on account of it. Sin is the most destructive poison in the world, but even this is deprived of its deadly power in the members of Christ.
O blissful security of the children of God, against which every arrow is blunt, every sword is notched; who put their hands unhurt into the den of the cockatrice! And that which seeks their injury promotes their blessing against its will. The wicked world is to them only as the abode of the the refiner and the polisher. Even the devil performs for them only the office of an apprentice in the dispensary of the great Physician, in which he prepares beneficial mixtures. All that is in the world has received orders to serve these little ones.
Lift up your heads, therefore, you who are dear to God as the apple of His eye! Bid adieu to care! Whatever happens to you in the world, there is for you no harm in the pot. Grace mingles itself with everything, and renders it for our good.