Death of Mrs. Sherman 3

III. Let us now consider and enforce the apostle's exhortation to surviving Christians, to imitate the example of those who "through faith and patience inherit the promises."

"That you be not SLOTHFUL." Slothfulness, in every aspect in which it can be viewed, and in every relation to human affairs, is a censurable, disgraceful, and destructive habit. With that incalculable source of energy which every rational and healthy mind carries about within itself, and with the many occasions and demands for its exercise, which in this busy world surround us, it is a sin and a shame for any man to "stand idle all the day long." Indolence, in reference to the concerns of this world, is bad enough. But where shall we find language sufficiently strong to describe the present guilt and future misery of indolence and sloth in reference to the soul and the soul's concerns? Of all the instances of folly, sin, and misery, which the inhabitants of earth present, either to the angels in heaven, or to the fallen spirits in the bottomless pit, the most astounding must be the sight of an impenitent sinner, slumbering in careless security over the over the bottomless pit! One would be led to imagine, did not experience testify to the contrary, that there is enough in that one word 'eternity' to rouse all men to the most intense concern, and to the most laborious diligence. The import of that solemn word 'eternity' speaks, without one additional remark, the necessity of being prepared.

But I remember that my business, by appointment, this morning, is not so much with slumbering worldlings—as with slothful professors; not so much with those who are sound asleep upon the precipice of destruction—as with those who are slumbering upon the couch of spiritual ease. You nominal Christians, you over whom conscience has sufficient power to prevent you from altogether absenting yourselves from the means of grace and from discontinuing prayer—but whose attendance upon them is cold, profitless, and vain; you who retain your place in the church of God—but whose heart is going after the world; you who have not abandoned your profession by open apostacy, either in the way of heresy, immorality, or miserly covetousness—but who, by a prevailing worldliness, and an ineffectual attempt to reconcile God and Mammon, are lowering the import, sullying the honor, and beclouding the luster of the Christian name; you who have lost "your first love," and are now among the heartless, the lukewarm, and the careless—though not among the wicked and profane; you who take up religion only at random opportunities, and abandon to it such fragments of time as the busy history of a life spent in worldliness can afford—consider, I beseech you, on this solemn morning, the danger and the guilt of such a state of heart and conduct.

How perilous to yourselves, how corrupting to others, how discreditable to religion, how displeasing to Christ, is slothfulness in the Christian profession! Do, do, consider the mighty work to be done, and the "few and evil days" for doing it. The fight of faith is for a crown of glory, and failure is everlasting infamy. The race of Christianity is for life eternal; and it is a race against time, in which there is not one moment to spare from its earnest and toilsome prosecution. Remember, you need not only a title to heaven—but a fitness for it, and that fitness lies in victory over the world, sin, and self. "Yes, the mighty work to be done before we die, (and we may die any day,) is that we may be translated from the dominion of sin to the kingdom of grace—is the crucifixion of 'the old man,' and the resurrection of the new; is the transmutation of the character of earth which we have at first, into the character of heaven which we must acquire afterwards—else heaven we shall never reach.

The distance, great as it is, between the two states, must be traversed on this side of death—or we shall never attain to a state of blessedness on the other side death. It is a far journey, and short is the period that we have for the performance of it. With many of us the day is far spent, and the shades of night are gathering around us." And shall we still linger, loiter, hesitate? Shall we still, with a setting sun, a coming night—and trifle and slumber, and content ourselves with a few feeble and ineffectual aspirations after holiness and heaven?

Foolish and slumbering virgins—awake, awake! The Bridegroom is coming. I hear the sound of his solemn procession. It is near, even at the door with some of you. Arise, and trim your lamps, and be ready. Oh, the indescribable, the inconceivable misery, to be among the number against whom "the door is shut!" and to be shut out with a 'lamp of profession' in your hand; to go down to the pit with a 'lamp of profession' in your hand; to go into the deep shades of eternal night with a 'lamp of profession'—but a lamp without oil, and therefore without one single ray to illumine and enliven the "outer darkness!"

"Be not slothful," but "gird up the loins of your mind." Ever be in that state in which you would be found when the grim messenger shall come to usher you into the presence of the Judge of the living and the dead. Could that happy spirit who has lately left our world be permitted to address you from her throne of glory, with what an emphasis would she say, "Beloved friends, with whom on earth I took sweet counsel, and walked to the house of God in company, could you conceive of but a thousandth part of the glory which now surrounds me, you would account that world which so sinfully engrosses your attention scarcely worth a passing glance, a momentary thought. Do not be slothful, when heaven or hell hangs upon your life! Do not be slothful, when eternity is before you! Do not be slothful, when infinite joy, or endless woe, attends on every breath! How would your indolence be rectified by the consideration of what is before you! Do not be slothful! And if my death should contribute to your increased and full decision, it will add another note to the song of praise, which I have commenced in heaven, and am to prolong through eternity. And, therefore, with all the emphasis derived from the felicities of heaven and the wonders of eternity, I say to you—Do not be slothful."

But observe also the other part of the apostolic injunction—"Be followers of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises." The word translated FOLLOWERS signifies imitators. If we would follow them to their seats of glory, we must resemble them as they were in their state of grace. Their faith and patience must be copied into our character and conduct. The examples of departed saints, especially of such as were eminent for their piety, must be held sacred by memory. The righteous must be "had in everlasting remembrance." We perpetuate their name upon the sculptured monument, and preserve their bodily resemblance by the painter's art (and blessed be the art which can so perpetuate a mortal form!) we may do so innocently—we may lawfully indulge in all the 'sober luxury of grief', by going forth to the sepulcher weeping, and by gazing upon the portrait which looks so lovingly upon us, until it seems almost to speak to us. All this is well, Christian—but it is not enough. Their sanctified character, their once living piety, is their best monument and their most exact image. Affection gazes with fondness upon the one—but faith looks with a kind of holy reverence on the other.

It is that eye of penitence, that look of faith, that smile of hope, that air of devotion, that brow of confidence, that posture of humility; in short, that whole moral countenance, so like the Savior—which ought to be dear to us. How ought it to be cherished in most precious remembrance, and remembered to be imitated! Imitation of their excellences, is the highest tribute of respect to the memory of the departed spirit. 'Biography' has peculiar honor, considered as one of the most powerful means for the formation of character; but what books have such power over us as the vividly recollected example of our pious friends? They have all the charm to attract us with which affection invests them—they are the moral pictures of the departed; they are viewed in that light, which brings out their excellences into prominence, and throws their imperfections into the shade; for who can see the failings of a friend whom death has taken away? They show us what grace can do for us, in what it did for them. And then, the very sorrow with which these patterns of excellence are viewed, does but soften us to receive the impress of their likeness.

Bear in recollection, dear brethren, that it is the living saint rather than the dying one, that is commended to our notice and imitation. It is not the professor uttering his swan-like song on the eve of death, and entering heaven with the note of triumph on his lips; this is beautiful enough, though perhaps in some cases somewhat delusive. I am not insensible to the value of a triumphant passage through the dark domain of the king of terrors; Christianity then appears in power and glory, when it changes the spectral form of death into a welcome visitant, erects its trophies on the tomb, and inspires immortal hopes in dying moments. But to be of value, then, all this must be preceded by a life as holy as the death is happy.

Dying ecstacies, as well as mortal agonies, may undoubtedly be attributed in some cases to a fictitious source; to the dreams occasioned by opium, to the illusions of a perturbed imagination, or to that morbid excitement, that preternatural radiance which disease will sometimes impart to the intellect, and which resembles the delirious splendor which it can occasionally enkindle in the eye. But when a triumphant death is the close of an eminently holy and useful life, it is a scene as beautiful in the spiritual world—as is the glorious sunset of a fine autumnal day—as in the natural world. It is a scene for the imitation of earth, the admiration of heaven, and the instruction of all.

Such a scene has been exhibited to this congregation in the lamented decease of their pastor's beloved, inestimable wife. Next to the pastor himself, speaking generally, the most important and influential member of any church is the woman he has chosen to be his companion in the journey of life. Were I to concede what has been contended for by some, that no more is to be desired or expected from her, as regards the church, than from any other woman in the community, (though I am not disposed to concede this,) still it is impossible to forget the influence, for good or for evil, she must necessarily exert over the character and conduct, the usefulness and comfort of her husband.

And it does therefore appear to me to be the solemn duty of those who are called to the Christian ministry, to make their selection with a view to their usefulness in their pastoral, as well as their comfort in their domestic, life. The wife of a pastor has an opportunity of doing good allotted to no other woman in the whole church. The publicity of her situation gives to her example a power, which, from its being so constantly and thoroughly before the people, no other can possess; while her knowledge of the circumstances of the flock, and the institutions connected with it, present to her an opportunity of filling that wide circle of operations with the gentle and beneficent influence of her prudence, her piety, and her activity—which no other situation can command.

I may, with great propriety, and with equal boldness, make these remarks on the present mournful occasion, when I am called upon to hold up one of the most beautiful specimens of female excellence, and one of the most perfect examples of a pastor's wife, which it has ever been my lot, or yours, to behold. The account which I shall now read to you speaks, of course, and indeed avows, its authorship; and what other hand could sketch the picture of her, who is so mysteriously taken from us—but his who once possessed the bright original? It may be well conceived with what a mixture of sorrowful, yet admiring affection, he drew each line upon his painting, and with what disappointment he looked upon his labors when he had finished it, from a consciousness how far short he had fallen in this attempt to do justice to the excellence which he wished—but vainly attempted to portray.

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