The Last Enemy Destroyed!

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"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." 1 Corinthians 15:26

Our Savior stooped to the lowest depths of degradation, he shall be exalted to the topmost heights of glory. "Being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross; therefore God also has highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name." Our Lord was trampled beneath the feet of all, but the day comes when all things shall be trampled beneath his feet. By so much as he descended, by so much shall he ascend; by the greatness of his sufferings may we judge of the unspeakable grandeur of his glory. Already sin lies beneath his feet, and Satan, like the old dragon bound, is there also. The systems of idolatry, which were paramount in the days of his flesh, he has broken as with a rod of iron. Where are the gods of Rome and Greece? Where are Jupiter, Diana, and Mercury? Let the moles and the bats reply. The colossal systems of idolatry which still dominate over the minds of men must yet come down; the truth as it is in Jesus must before long prevail over those ancient dynasties of error, for Jesus our Lord must reign from the river even unto the ends of the earth! In these last times, when sin in all its forms and Satan with all his craft shall be subdued, then death itself also, the unconquerable death, the insatiable devourer of the human race, who has swept them away as grass before the mower’s scythe- then shall death who has feared the face of none, but has laid armies prostrate in his wrath, be utterly destroyed. He who is immortality and life shall bring death of death and destruction to the grave, and unto him shall be songs of everlasting praise. Contemplate the glory of your Master, then, believer. From the base of the pyramid, deep in darkness, he rises to the summit, which is high in glory; from the depths of the abyss of woe he leaps to the tops of the mountain of joy. Anticipate his triumph by faith, for you shall partake in it; so surely as you share in his abasement, you shall also partake in his glory, and the more you shall become conformable unto him in his sufferings, the more may you rest assured that you shall be partakers with him in the glory which is to be revealed.

Come we now to the text itself. The text teaches us that death itself is at the last to be vanquished by Christ, no, it is to be utterly destroyed by him, so that it shall cease to be. In handling the text, there are four things, which at once strike you.
Here is death an enemy;
but, secondly, he is the last enemy;
and, thirdly, he is an enemy to be destroyed;
but, fourthly, he is the last enemy that shall be destroyed.

I. First, then, you have in our banquet of this morning, as your first course, BITTER HERBS, wormwood mingled with gall; for you have DEATH AN ENEMY.

It is not difficult to perceive in what respects death is an enemy. Consider him apart from the resurrection, apart from the glorious promises, which spring up like sweet flowers sown by celestial hands upon the black soil of the tomb, and death is preeminently an enemy. Death is an enemy because it is always repugnant to the nature of living creatures to die. Flesh and blood cannot love death. God has wisely made self- preservation one of the first laws of our nature; it is an attribute of a living man to desire to prolong his life. "Skin for skin, yes, all that a man has will he give for his life;" it is our dearest heritage. To throw away life with the suicide is a crime, and to waste life in folly is no mean sin. We are bound to prize life. We must do so: it is one of the instincts of our humanity, and he were not greater but less than man who did not care to live. Death must always, then, by creatures that breathe, be looked upon as a foe.

Death may well be counted as a foe, because it entered into the world and became the master over the race of Adam through our worst enemy, namely, sin. It came not in accordance to the course of nature, but according to the course of evil. Death came not in by the door, but it climbed up some other way, and we may therefore rest assured that it is a thief and a robber. It was not in the natural constitution of humanity that man should die, for the first man, Adam, was made a living soul. Eminent physiologists have said that they do not detect in the human system any particular reason why man should die at fourscore years. The same wheels which have gone on for twenty, thirty, forty years might have continued their revolutions for a hundred years, or even for centuries, so far as their own self-renewing power is concerned. There is no reason in man’s body itself why it should inevitably return to the dust from which it was taken; or if there be now such a reason, it may be traceable to the disease which sin has brought into our constitution; but, as originally formed, man might have been immortal- he would have been immortal. In that garden, if the leaves had faded, he would not, and if the animals had died (and I suppose they would, for they certainly did die before Adam came into the world), yet there is no need that Adam should have died: he could have renewed his youth like the eagle and remained immortal amidst mortality, a king and priest forever, if God had so chosen it should be; instead of which, through sin, though he be even now a priest, he must, like Aaron, go up to the top of the hill and put off his priestly garments and breathe out his life. Sin brought in death, and nothing that came in by sin can be man’s friend. Death, the child of Sin, is the foe of man.

That the truth before us is most sure, some people know by very bitter experience, for it embitters their existence. To some men this is the one drop of gall which has made their life bitter to them.

The thought that they should die shades them with raven wings. By the fear of death they are all their lifetime subject to bondage. Like Uriah, the Hittite, they carry in their bosom the message, which ordains their death; but, unlike him, they know that it contains the fatal mandate. Like cloth, which feeds the moth, which devours it, their fears and forebodings feed the fatal worm. When their cups are sweetest they remember the dregs of death, and when their viands are the daintiest they think of the black servitor who will clear away the feast. They can enjoy nothing, because the darkness of death’s shade lies across the landscape; the spirit of death haunts them, the skeleton sits at their table; they are mournfully familiar with the shroud, the coffin, and the sepulcher; but they are familiar with these not as with friendly provisions for a good night’s rest, but as the cruel ensigns of a dreaded foe. This makes death an enemy with emphasis, when our fears enable him thus to spoil our life. When death rides his pale horse, roughshod, over all terrestrial joys, he makes us feel that it is a poor thing to live because the thread of life is so soon to be cut, a miserable thing even to flourish, because we only flourish like the green herb, and, like the green herb, are cut down and cast into the oven. Many others have found death to be their foe, not so much because they themselves have been depressed by the thought, but because the great enemy has made fearful breaches in their daily comforts. O you mourners! your somber garments tell me that your family circle has been broken into, time after time, by this ruthless destroyer. The widow has lost her comfort and her stay; the children have been left desolate and fatherless. O death! you are the cruel enemy of our hearths and homes. The youthful spirit has lost half itself when the beloved one has been rent away, and men have seemed like maimed souls when the best half of their hearts has been snatched from them. Hope looked not forth at the window because the mourners went about the streets. Joy drank no more from her crystal cup, for the golden bowl was broken, and the wheel was broken at the cistern, and all the daughters of music were brought low. How often have the unseen arrows of death afflicted our household, and smitten at our feet those whom we least could spare. The green have been taken as well as the ripe: death has cut down the father’s hope and the mother’s joy, and, worse than this, he has pitilessly rent away from the house its strongest pillar and torn out of the wall the corner stone. Death has no affections of compassion; his flinty heart feels for none; he spares neither young nor old. Tears cannot keep our friends for us, nor can our sighs and prayers reanimate their dust. He is an enemy indeed, and the very thought of his cruel frauds upon our love makes us weep.

He is an enemy to us in that he has taken away from us One who is dearer to us than all others. Death has even made a prey of him who is immortality and life. On yonder cross behold death’s most dreadful work. Could it not spare him? Were there not enough of us? Why should it smite our David, who was worth ten thousand of us? Did it not suffice that we, the common men who had been tainted by sin, should fall by a doom that was justly due to our sin; but must the virgin-born, in whom there was no sin- the immaculate Savior- must he die? Yes, death’s vengeance was not satisfied until out of his quiver had been drawn the fatal arrow which should pierce the heart of the Son of God. Behold he dies! Those eyes that wept over Jerusalem are glazed in death’s deepest darkness. Those hands that scattered blessings, hang as inanimate clay by that bloodstained but lifeless side. The body must be wrapped in spices and fine linen, and laid within the silent tomb. Weep, heaven! mourn, earth! for your King is dead, the Prince of life and glory is a prisoner in the tomb. Death, all-conquering tyrant, you are an enemy indeed, for you have slain and led our dearest one into your gloomy cell.

We may more fully perceive death’s enmity in our own people. He is an enemy to us because very soon he will bear us away from all our prized possessions. "These things," said one, as he walked through fine gardens and looked upon lawns, and parks, and mansions- "these things make it hard to die." To leave the fair goods and gains of earth, and to return into the womb of mother earth as naked as first we came forth from it; to have the crown taken from the head, and the ermine from the shoulder, and to be brought down to the same level as the poorest beggar that slept upon a dunghill, is no small thing.

Dives must be unwrapped of his scarlet, and if he shall find a tomb he shall be no more honored than Lazarus, though Lazarus should die unburied. Death is an enemy to man, because though he may store up his goods and build his barns and make them greater, yet it is death who says, "You fool, this night shall your soul be required of you." Death makes wealth a dream, it turns misers’ gain to loss, and laughs a hoarse laugh at toiling slaves who load themselves with yellow dust. When the rich man has made his fortune, he wins six foot of earth and nothing more, and what less has he who died a pauper.

Death is an enemy to Christians too because it carries them away from choice society. We have often said,
"My willing soul would stay
In such a frame as this."

We love the saints the people of God are our company, and with our brethren we walk to his house, who are our familiar companions, and alas, we are to be taken away from them; nor is this all, we are to be parted from those who are nearer still: the wife of our bosom and the children of our care. Yes, we must bid farewell to every loved one, and go our way to the land from which no traveler returns, banished from the militant host of God and from the happy homes of men. Death is an enemy because it breaks up all our enjoyments. No cheerful peals of Sabbath bells again for us, no going up to the much-loved sanctuary where the holy hymn has often borne us aloft as on eagle’s wings, no more listening to the teachings of the Christian ministry, when Boanerges has aroused us, and Barnabas has consoled us, until the desert of our life has blossomed like a rose; no minglings in communion around the Master’s table, no more drinking of the cup and eating of the bread which symbolizes the Master’s sufferings, at death’s door we bid farewell to all Sabbath enjoyment and sanctuary joys.

Oh you enemy, you do compel us to give a long, a last farewell to all our employments. The earnest and successful minister must leave the flock, perhaps to be scattered or torn by grievous wolves. Just when it seemed as if his life was most necessary the leader falls, and like a band of freshly enlisted young recruits who lose the warrior whose skill had led them on to victory, they are scattered when he seemed necessary to make them one, and lead them on to conquest. She who was training up her children in God’s fear sleeps in the grave when the children need her most, and he who spoke for Christ, or who was a pillar in the house of God, who served his day and generation- he too must fall asleep- no more to feed the hungry, or to clothe the naked, or to teach the ignorant, or comfort the feeble-minded.

He is gone from the vineyard of the church that needed him to trim the vines, and from the house of God which needed him as a wise master-builder to edify it to perfection. Who but an enemy could have taken him away at such a moment and from such engagements? He is gone too, dear friends, from all the success of life, and herein has death been his bitter enemy. He is gone from hearing the cries of penitent sinners, the true success of God’s ministers, gone from leading pilgrims to the cross, and hearing their songs of joy. Great-heart has led many a caravan of pilgrims to the Celestial City, but now he himself must cross the Jordan. It little avails him that he has fought with Giant Despair and brought him to his knees, it benefits but little that he slew old Giant Grim, who would have forced Christians and the children to go back: hero as he has been, the floods must roll over his head; of that black and bitter stream he too must drink, and that too, very probably when God had honored him most, and favored him with the prospect of yet greater success. So, brethren and sisters, it may be with you; when you are most diligent in business, most fervent in spirit, and serving the Lord with the greatest joy, when your sheaves are heavy and you are shouting the Harvest Home, it may be then that this unwelcome enemy will hasten you from the field of your triumph to leave to others the work you loved so well.

Nor is this all. This enemy is peculiarly so to us, because we are accustomed to surround the thought of his coming with many pains, with many infirmities, and above all, since the decay, corruption, and utter dissolution of the body is in itself a most terrible thing, we are alarmed at the prospect of it. The pains and groans and dying strife drive us back from the grave’s brink, and make us long to linger in our prison and our clay. We fear to pass through the gate of iron because of the grim porters of pain and sickness who sit before the gate. Certainly to some it is hard work to die. While life is still vigorous it will not yield its dominion without a struggle; in other cases where old age has gradually smoothed the pathway, we have known many of our brethren and sisters sleep themselves into a better land, and none could tell when they passed the mysterious line which divides the realm of life from the domain of death. It is not always that death is escorted by bodily griefs, but so often does he come with clouds and darkness round about him that men at the first glance conclude from his hostile array that he is no friend of theirs. He is an enemy, no, the enemy, the very worst enemy that our fears could conjure up, for we could fight with Satan and overcome him, but who can overcome death? We can master sin through the precious blood of Jesus, and can be more than a conqueror over all our fear, but we must bow beforethe iron spectre of this grim tyrant; to the dust we must descend, and amidst the tombs we all must sleep (unless, indeed, unless the Lord should speedily come), for it is appointed unto men once to die.

II. Having said enough upon this topic we shall now take away the dish of bitter herbs, and bring forth a little salt while we speak upon the second point, namely, that, though death be an enemy, IT IS THELAST ENEMY.

I say salt, because it is not altogether sweet; there is a pungency as well as a savor here. It is the last enemy- what if I say it is the dreaded reserve of the army of hell. When Satan shall have brought up every other adversary, and all these shall have been overcome through the blood of the Lamb, then the last, the body-guard of hell, under the command of the King of Terrors, the strongest, the fiercest, the most terrible of foes, shall assail us! It has been the custom of some great commanders to keep a body of picked men in reserve to make the final assault. Just when battalion after battalion have been swept away, and the main army reels; just when the victory is almost in the enemy’s hands, the all but defeated commander pours his mightiest legions upon the foe, uncovers all his batteries and makes one terrible and final charge with the old guard that never has been beaten, and never can surrender, and then perhaps at the last moment he snatches triumph from between the foeman’s teeth.

Ah, Christian, the last charge may be the worst you have ever known; you may find in your last moments that you will have need of all your strength, and more, you will be constrained to cry to the Strong for strength, you will have to plead for heavenly reinforcements to succor you in that last article. Let no man conclude himself at the close of the war until he is within the pearly gate; for, if there be but another five minutes to live, Satan will, if possible, avail himself of it.

The enemy may come in like a flood precisely at that flattering moment when you hoped to dwell in the land Beulah, and to be lulled to rest by soft strains from the celestial choirs. It is not always so, it is notoften so, for, "at eventide there shall be light" is usually the experience of the Christian; but it is so sometimes; it has been notably so with those whose previous life has been very peaceful; a calm day has ended with a stormy evening, and a bright sun has set amid dark clouds. Some of those whose candle never went out before have been put to bed in the dark. The soldiers of the cross have been pursued by the foe up to the city walls, as if the Lord had said to his soldier, "There are more laurels yet to win, behold I give you another opportunity of glorifying my name among my militant people." Brethren, if death be the last enemy, I do not think we have to fight with him now; we have other enemies who claim our valor and our watchfulness today. We need not be taken up with devising plans of present defense against an enemy that does not yet assail us. The present business of life, the present service of God and of his cause are our main concern, and in attending to these we shall best, as Christians, be found prepared to die. To live well is the way to die well. Death is not our first foe but the last; let us then fight our adversaries in order, and overcome them each in its turn, hoping that he who has been with us even until now will be with us until the end.

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