Death Sermon Illustrations

Death Sermon Illustrations

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No Fear

"What did you do to our daughter?" asked a Moslem woman, whose child had died at sixteen years of age. "We did nothing," answered the missionary. "Oh, yes, you did," persisted the mother. "She died smiling. Our people do not die like that." The girl had found Christ and believed on Him a few months before. Fear of death had gone. Hope, giving birth to joy, had replaced it. —Gospel Herald.


How Unbelievers Die

Death is a blessed and glorious event for the true believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, the most wonderful experience that can ever come to a child of God. The apostle Paul said, ". . to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21). How differently most of us look on death! We think of it as some horrible monster seeking to separate us forever from those we love. Actually, for those who are in the Lord, death is but the gateway to life, a stepping-stone to Glory.

To the unbeliever death is a terrible thing. Sir Thomas Scott, on his death­bed, said, "Until this moment I thought there was neither a God nor a Hell. Now I know and feel that there are both, and I am doomed to perdition by the just judgment of the Almighty."

M. F. Rich, an atheist, cried, "I would rather lie on a stove and broil for a million years than go into eternity with the eternal horrors that hang over my soul! I have given my immortality for gold; and its weight sinks me into an endless, hopeless, helpless Hell."—Selected.


"My Bandit"

In Cincinnati I heard Miss Muriel Lester relate the story of a missionary in China whose husband was called away from home. During his absence a bandit broke into the home, seized the missionary, and was about to kill her. To her surprise she found that she was not afraid of death, and that in her heart was no hatred for her enemy. Calmly she looked into his eyes, smiled at him, took off her ring, and gave it to him. The bandit's hold loosened; he turned and walked away. He had doubtless seen not only her high courage, but the love of Jesus shining in her face. The missionary wrote a poem entitled "My Bandit," because she felt that she was debtor to him, not so much for sparing her life as for freeing her forever from the fear of death.Sunday School Times


Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar. —Alfred Tennyson, in The Works of Tennyson.


What Took Away the Fear

I well remember how, in my native village in New England, it was customary to toll the church bell as many strokes as the departed was years old. Anxiously I would count the strokes, and, if there were seventy or eighty, I would breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I had a long time yet to live. But when there were only a few years tolled, I was seized with horror that I, too, should be claimed by dreaded death. Death and judgment were a constant source of fear to me till I realized that neither shall have any hold on a child of God; for "there is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus." Moody's Stories, Bible Institute Colportage Association.


When We Forget

I had graduated from college and theological seminary, but I had never seen anyone die. It was my first week in a parish. A messenger came with the word: "Father Junkins is dying, and he wants to see you, pastor." What could I do? The man reported dying was eighty-seven years of age — the outstanding Christian in the village. I started at once for his home, but I went with fear and trembling, for I had no message. I kept praying, "0 God, give me a message for this dying saint." Upon entering his room, he said, "Oh, pastor, I am dying! For years I have been feasting, on the promises of God, but this morning when I woke up, I could not remember one of them! What shall I do?" Then God gave me an answer which, after visiting the bedsides of scores of dying saints during forty years, I cannot improve. I said, "Father Junkins, do you think God will forget any of His promises?" I shall always remember the sweet smile that came over the face of the old saint as he looked up at me. "Praise God," he said, "that is wonderful! He'll remember them, won't He?... I'll just fall asleep and trust Him to remember His precious promises to me." In a few hours he had gone Home to be with the Promiser. The promises of God are wonderful. But our Lord Himself is more wonderful than His promises.—The King's Business.


The Presence of Christ

A dying man, being visited by his minister, complained that he could not experience the consciousness of God's pres­ence. The minister told him to have a chair placed by his bedside, and then to think that Christ was seated in that chair and reach out his hand to clasp the hand of Christ seated in the chair. The ill man did so and found a blessed sense of the presence of Christ with him in that sick room. When the minister called a few days later, he found his friend dead, but with his hand clutching the arm of the chair in which, to him, the Christ had sat and held his hand. Have you ever done that—put yourself into an attitude of spirit in which you willed to think and feel that Christ was by your side?—William Evans, in S. S. World.


A Lesson From Childhood

One evening recently, when I was tucking my small daughter in bed, she said, "Mother, stay with me while I go to sleep." For a moment, remembering all the tasks that await me when I come home from work, I was tempted to put her off. But only for an instant; then I sat down by her and held her little soft hand in mine. And in a calm reflection, while she drifted away to dreamland, this thought — or perhaps it was a prayer — wafted its way to the Infinite: "May I so live that when life's evening shall come I can say with utter confidence to the Divine Parent—'Stay with me while I go to sleep.' "Mother of Two

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