The Character and Translation of Enoch 2

Next Part The Character and Translation of Enoch 3

Where or when do we ever read of an earthly sovereign thus familiarly and habitually walking with the most exalted of his subjects? When the great officers of state, and others, who have the privilege of the entree come into the presence of royalty, they approach humbly, conduct themselves with the greatest reverence while there, and having finished their business, retire. Of none of them can it be said they habitually walk with the monarch. Yet thus does the King of kings, in infinite condescension and kindness, conduct himself towards the basest of his subjects, to whom he grants the privilege of walking with Him. And then what felicity, as well as honor, is implied in this mode of life. Friendship is among the purest, wisest, and most ennobling of all earthly pleasures. What then shall be said of this divine fellowship, this holy and reverent familiarity with Him, before whom angels veil their faces—this friendship with God? Such honor have all the saints, such exceeding great and precious bliss does true religion bring with it.

III. Let us now contemplate the TRANSLATION of Enoch. "He was not; for God took him." Had we nothing but this expression to guide us, we might not probably have been able to determine positively, whether or not the patriarch passed to heaven without dying. Yet the variation in his case from the simple expression, "and he died," applied to the other patriarchs, would, of itself, lead to the supposition that there was something peculiar in his mode of exit from our world. Critics tell us that the Greek term in the Septuagint version of the Old Testament implies that he was translated. And certain it is that this was the opinion of the Jewish Teachers in their paraphrase of the passage, and also of Josephus and Philo. And some of the fables of the Greek and Hindu mythology may probably have been borrowed from it. The apostle Paul, however, settles the question and places it beyond all doubt, where he explicitly says, "he was translated that he should not see death." Enoch then, adds a second instance to that of Elijah, of one of our race who passed to glory, honor, and immortality by another road than that of "the dark valley of the shadow of death."

There are many things which, to a reflective mind, will suggest themselves in connection with, and arising out of, this extraordinary event. As "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, and corruption cannot inherit incorruption," the body of the patriarch, and of Elijah, in like manner, must have undergone a sudden and entire transmutation, analogous to that which will pass upon those who shall be alive at the second advent of our Lord, and to which the apostle alludes, where he says, "We shall not all sleep—but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet, for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed." Indeed, the same change passed upon the humanity of Christ on his ascending to glory. How the human body will be constituted in its celestial state is one of the things to which the expression may be applied, "it does not yet appear what we shall be," but this we know that what is sown in corruption shall be raised in incorruption; what is sown in dishonor, shall be raised in glory; what is sown in weakness, shall be raised in honor; and what is sown a natural body, shall be raised a spiritual body.

A question will arise in most minds, whether the translation of Enoch took place in private or in public. There is one expression used by the apostle Paul, which would almost imply it was a secret exit; it is said "he was not found." This looks as if he had been sought for, which would not have been the case, it is supposed, had it been known he was translated. But the expression might intend nothing more than that he was missed. Such a man could not but be missed. His removal made a chasm which every eye must notice. Missed he must have been by the upright who had now lost the benefit of his example, his counsels, and his prayers; and who sensibly felt how much they had been impoverished by the removal of such a man. "Ah," they would mournfully say to each other, "the Patriarch is gone, our father is taken from us, the holy and intrepid preacher is no more with us. We feel his loss on our own account—but still more for the public for whose welfare he so zealously labored. Help, Lord, for the godly man fails." Missed he would be by the bad, some of whom would rejoice that they were no more rebuked by his reproaches, wounded by his cutting reproofs, or troubled by his faithful warnings. Yet, some there are, even among the wicked, who feel a kind of sorrowful and respectful grief when a servant of God is removed. "Yes," they say, "we thought him too severe, morose, and stern, too uncompliant and strict—but he did it out of love to our souls, and he was a good man after all, and his death is a public loss." A faithful minister thus leaves his testimonial and defense, not only in the hearts of holy men—but in the consciences of the unrighteous.

Enoch was missed—would we be missed? How much, and by whom? For what, and how long? Without intentionally aiming at posthumous fame—ought we not all to wish, and seek, so to live, as to be missed and lamented, when we are gone? The generality of men are each like a pebble on the shore, which, if thrown into the sea, is neither missed from the land, nor sensibly a gain to the ocean's bed. Should we be of this character? Who besides our own immediate friends would feel impoverished if we were to die tomorrow? What institutions set up for the relief of suffering humanity would be mourners at our funeral? How much poorer would be our world—for our departure from it? Would the sick miss our visits at their bedside? Would the sorrowful our sympathy in their grief? Would the poor our alms in their scenes of squalid poverty? Would the ignorant our instructions in their abodes of darkness? What are we doing, how are we living, to secure over our grave the lamentation, "Alas, my brother, my friend, my benefactor?"

And would not some be missed, not indeed as benefactors—but as nuisances? not as blessings but as curses? For how many does the tear of regret fall, not that they are at length dead—but that they had not died sooner! "Oh," says some one, "that he had departed before he had corrupted my son, ruined my daughter, beggared my friends, or led myself astray!" Be missed then, and let search be made for you, when you are dead, and be mourned for with the lamentation attending the death of a friend to humanity and true religion, and not the lament that you have lived so long. "When it goes well with the righteous, the city rejoices; and when the wicked perish there is shouting."

The probability, however, with regard to the translation of Enoch is, that it was so far public as to take place before witnesses—how else would it have been known what had become of him? It might have been supposed he had met with an untimely end, or that he had been murdered by some whose hostility he had excited by his fidelity, and whose malignity had goaded on their revenge to a deed of blood. When Elijah was translated, Elisha, and perhaps the sons of the prophets, saw him borne off in his chariot of fire. When Jesus Christ ascended to his glory, he led out his disciples "as far as Bethany, and lifted up his hands and blessed them, and it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and was carried up into heaven." In neither of the two former cases was there entire publicity—but a selection of witnesses, competent, both from qualifications and numbers, to bear credible testimony. It is not unlikely that some of the venerable people mentioned in this chapter were present on this occasion, to witness and testify the extraordinary event. Adam was dead, and Noah was not yet born—but most of the rest might have been living and present. What an assemblage does such a supposition present to our imagination—and on what an occasion were they brought together!

As this event was to answer important religious ends and purposes, we can the more readily suppose the circumstances of it were thus ordered. We may conclude that all God's dispensations, whether ordinary or extraordinary, which are intended to instruct, to warn, and to rebuke the generation to which they are granted, are well adapted to accomplish their contemplated design. This of Enoch's translation was so in an eminent degree. It was designed to bear God's testimony to the excellence and importance of real godliness. Piety was scoffed at, and they who practiced it ridiculed and persecuted, by the race of infidels which then everywhere prevailed. The tradition of the murder of righteous Abel by his wicked brother, had come down to them, and uniting its influence with the tyrannical power of the descendants of Cain over the posterity of Seth, who were the professors of true religion, encouraged the atheistic idea in the minds of the multitude, that there either was no God at all, or if there were, that he was an Epicurean deity who had retired from all concern with the affairs of this world, and left all things to be governed by chance. But here was proof beyond all contradiction that "verily there is a God who judges in the earth, who discerns between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serves God and him that serves him not." Here was a testimony of God's approval of the righteous, which was calculated and intended to be a severe rebuke to those who had ridiculed all religion in the person of Enoch; and at the same time an encouragement to those who still held fast their integrity and remained faithful in their profession of true religion.

But this was not all the purpose of Enoch's translation, for it furnished and was designed, no doubt, to afford a sensible and striking proof, yes, demonstration of the invisible world. We do not read that miracles were wrought by the antediluvian patriarchs and prophets; and we know they had no written revelation. It was not unsuitable to such a state of things, nor unlikely that some such event as this should occur, to furnish an evidence both of the immortality of the soul and the resurrection of the body; for Enoch's whole humanity, the body as well as the soul, was taken up to heaven. The portals of the unseen world were thus partially opened, and that atheistic race furnished with a proof of the wondrous truth, that there is a state of existence beyond the grave. That it produced little effect, is too true; but what greater effect was produced by the miracles of Christ and his apostles upon the multitudes of his time, or upon the minds of millions since?

If, however, the removal of Enoch from earth produced but little impression upon its wretched population, his arrival in heaven, we may conceive without any extraordinary or unauthorized stretch of imagination, occasioned new surprise and delight among the angels of God. When the soul of righteous Abel rose from its gory tabernacle to its celestial abode, a new wonder was exhibited to the blessed inhabitants of Paradise. There was the entrance of the first human soul into the heavenly world; the gathering of the first fruits of the mighty harvest that was to follow; the first trophy of redeeming mercy. Upon the arrival of this 'stranger spirit' from the apostate earth we can well imagine that every seraph around the throne of God would burst into new acclamations of praise, and rise into new raptures of delight as the plan of redeeming love thus opened upon their astonished and wondering view. And when Enoch reached that happy world, a still further development of this plan took place; for there was our whole humanity, body and soul, represented by him. There was a foreshadowing of the resurrection of the dead, upon beholding which the principalities and powers of the heavenly places would make one step onward in learning "by the church the manifold wisdom of God."

Are any disposed to ask why the saints, instead of being thus translated like Enoch and Elijah—are doomed to travel to immortality by the gloomy and dreadful passage of death; we reply that this was, no doubt, within the compass of God's power—but not of his wisdom or justice. Reasons abundant are at hand to satisfy the questioner. Translation for all the saints, instead of death, would be an entire counteraction of the order of things brought in by sin, and an annulling of the original penalty pronounced upon the human race for the fall. This sentence must pass upon all, with two exceptions, for all have sinned; and thus, as in other cases, the exceptions confirm the rule. Death must remain, even to the righteous, as a comment upon the evil of sin. And how emphatically does it teach this. Every dying groan, every tolling death-bell, every funeral procession, every opened grave, proclaims the evil of sin, and is a warning against it. "But you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for on the day you eat from it, you will certainly die!" "For the wages of sin is death."

So that in one respect, there is mercy as well as justice in this solemn arrangement. Translation would require a constant miracle, and a constant miracle would be no miracle at all. It would also deprive Christianity of some of the brightest displays of its power, excellence, and glory. For if ever our holy religion appears in unusual splendor, it is when it enables its professors to subdue the last enemy in his own territory—and to be more than conquerors by faith over the King of Terrors. We had never had the battles and the victories of the noble army of martyrs, nor the death-bed triumphs of the saints, had they been translated that they should not see death. The unruffled patience, the calm resignation, the joy unspeakable and full of glory of the dying believer, as he gathered up his strength for his last effort, and exclaimed "O death, where is your sting, O grave, where is your victory," have extorted from many the response, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my latter end be like his." What multitudes have been converted to God by witnessing, or hearing, the expressions of the dying Christian. Translation would change the whole economy of redemption, and instead of walking by faith—we would then walk by sight. It would constitute a visible system of discipline and probation. The future and invisible world would, by such an arrangement, be brought within the realm of sense; the decisions of the day of judgment would be known, and the whole course of human affairs be disturbed. No. There must be no other, no brighter, nor more palpable form in which immortality must be brought before us than by an accredited revelation made to our faith instead of our senses. Death must be the dreadful gate, the dark passage to life and incorruption; and Christianity must be seen enabling its true believers to pass through this solemn scene uttering the song of triumph, "Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

But supposing translation were common, what moral advantage would be gained by it to men? Even its singularity failed to impress the inhabitants of the old world; and would it do more for us if it were an every-day occurrence? Men may speculate how much more they would be influenced by Christianity if its evidences were more common, and its great facts more palpable. It is a delusion, for it is not for lack of stronger proof that men are infidels—but for lack of disposition candidly to consider and examine that which they have. Those who will not believe the testimony of prophets and apostles would not credit that of messengers from the grave and the unseen world. This was declared by our Lord in the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.

We may, in connection with this part of our discourse, speak with propriety on the subject of SUDDEN DEATH which is suggested by the event that has called us together, and in this case, as well as in every other of a real Christian, is as near an approach to a translation as can be made by any one who really dies. To such a one can it be otherwise than a favor to be spared the languors of sickness, the racking pain, the anguish sometimes almost intolerable, and all the other terrible harbingers of death protracted through wearisome nights and months of vanity? To be exempt from the heart-rending pangs of separation at the last faltering adieu—and the solicitude produced by the prospect of leaving some but ill-provided for, as regards the present world—to be saved from those gloomy apprehensions which sometimes arise in the minds of the strongest and holiest of believers when contemplating the portals of the tomb—to be carried through the iron gates of death before we knew we were drawing near to them—to wake up in a moment, as from a dream, at the sound of the seraphim's song, and exchange in an instant of time the sights of earthly objects for the glorious realities of heaven, and the society of friends below for the innumerable company of angels and the spirits of just men made perfect; to find ourselves suddenly in the presence of God and the Lamb, and see the smile of welcome upon the countenance of the Savior, and with a burst of astonishment and gratitude to exclaim,

Next Part The Character and Translation of Enoch 3

Back to John Angell James