Practical Religion — Sickness
"_He whom Thou lovest is sick.
_"--John xi.
3. The chapter from which this text is taken is well known to all Bible readers.
In life-like description, in touching interest, in sublime simplicity, there is no writing in existence that will bear comparison with that chapter.
A narrative like this is to my own mind one of the great proofs of the inspiration of Scripture.
When I read the story of Bethany, I feel "There is something here which the infidel can never account for."
--"This is nothing else but the finger of God."
The words which I specially dwell upon in this chapter are singularly affecting and instructive.
They record the message which Martha and Mary sent to Jesus when their brother Lazarus was sick: "Lord, behold he whom Thou lovest is sick."
That message was short and simple.
Yet almost every word is deeply suggestive.
Mark the child-like faith of these holy women.
They turned to the Lord Jesus in their hour of need, as the frightened infant turns to its mother, or the compass-needle turns to the Pole.
They turned to Him as their Shepherd, their almighty Friend, their Brother born for adversity.
Different as they were in natural temperament, the two sisters in this matter were entirely agreed.
Christ's help was their first thought in the day of trouble.
Christ was the refuge to which they fled in the hour of need.
Blessed are all they that do likewise!
Mark the simple humility of their language about Lazarus.
They call Him "He whom Thou lovest."
They do not say, "He who loves Thee, believes in Thee, serves Thee," but "He whom Thou lovest."
Martha and Mary were deeply taught of God.
They had learned that Christ's love towards us, and not our love towards Christ, is the true ground of expectation, and true foundation of hope.
Blessed, again, are all they that are taught likewise!
To look inward to our love towards Christ is painfully unsatisfying: to look outward to Christ's love towards us is peace.
Mark, lastly, the touching circumstance which the message of Martha and Mary reveals: "He whom Thou lovest is sick."
Lazarus was a good man, converted, believing, renewed, sanctified, a friend of Christ, and an heir of glory.
And yet Lazarus was sick!
Then sickness is no sign that God is displeased.
Sickness is intended to be a blessing to us, and not a curse.
"All things work together for good to them that love God, and are called according to His purpose."
"All things are yours,--life, death, things present, or things to come: for ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's." (Rom.
viii.
28; 1 Cor.
iii.
22. ) Blessed, I say again, are they that have learned this!
Happy are they who can say, when they are ill, "This is my Father's doing.
It must be well."
I invite the attention of my readers to the subject of sickness.
The subject is one which we ought frequently to look in the face.
We cannot avoid it.
It needs no prophet's eye to see sickness coming to each of us in turn one day.
"In the midst of life we are in death."
Let us turn aside for a few moments, and consider sickness as Christians.
The consideration will not hasten its coming, and by =God's= blessing may teach us wisdom.
In considering the subject of sickness, three points appear to me to demand attention.
On each I shall say a few words.
I.
The _universal prevalence_ of sickness and disease.
II.
The _general benefits_ which sickness confers on mankind.
III.
The _special duties_ to which sickness calls us.
I.
The _universal prevalence of sickness_.
I need not dwell long on this point.
To elaborate the proof of it would only be multiplying truisms, and heaping up common-places which all allow.
Sickness is everywhere.
In Europe, in Asia, in Africa, in America; in hot countries and in cold, in civilized nations and in savage tribes,--men, women, and children sicken and die.
Sickness is among all classes.
Grace does not lift a believer above the reach of it.
Riches will not buy exemption from it.
Rank cannot prevent its assaults.
Kings and their subjects, masters and servants, rich men and poor, learned and unlearned, teachers and scholars, doctors and patients, ministers and hearers, all alike go down before this great foe.
"The rich man's wealth is his strong city."
(Prov.
xviii.
11. ) The Englishman's house is called his castle; but there are no doors and bars which can keep out disease and death.
Sickness is of every sort and description.
From the crown of our head to the sole of our foot we are liable to disease.
Our capacity of suffering is something fearful to contemplate.
Who can count up the ailments by which our bodily frame may be assailed?
Who ever visited a museum of morbid anatomy without a shudder?
"Strange that a harp of thousand strings should keep in tune so long."
It is not, to my mind, so wonderful that men should die so soon, as it is that they should live so long.
Sickness is often one of the most humbling and distressing trials that can come upon man.
It can turn the strongest into a little child, and make him feel "the grasshopper a burden."
(Eccles.
xii.
5. ) It can unnerve the boldest, and make him tremble at the fall of a pin.
We are "fearfully and wonderfully made."
(Psalm cxxxix.
14. ) The connection between body and mind is curiously close.
The influence that some diseases can exercise upon the temper and spirits is immensely great.
There are ailments of brain, and liver, and nerves, which can bring down a Solomon in mind to a state little better than that of a babe.
He that would know to what depths of humiliation poor man can fall, has only to attend for a short time on sick-beds.
Sickness is not preventible by anything that man can do.
The average duration of life may doubtless be somewhat lengthened.
The skill of doctors may continually discover new remedies, and effect surprising cures.
The enforcement of wise sanitary regulations may greatly lower the death-rate in a land.
But, afterall,--whether in healthy or unhealthy localities,--whether in mild climates or in cold,--whether treated by homeopathy or allopathy,--men will sicken and die.
"The days of our years are three-score years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be four-score years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away."
(Psalm xc.
10. ) That witness is indeed true.
It was true 3300 years ago.
--It is true still.
Now what can we make of this great fact,--the universal prevalence of sickness?
How shall we account for it?
What explanation can we give of it?
What answer shall we give to our inquiring children when they ask us, "Father, why do people get ill and die?"
These are grave questions.
A few words upon them will not be out of place.
Can we suppose for a moment that God created sickness and disease at the beginning?
Can we imagine that He who formed our world in such perfect order was the Former of needless suffering and pain?
Can we think that He who made all things "very good," made Adam's race to sicken and to die?
The idea is, to my mind, revolting.
It introduces a grand imperfection into the midst of God's perfect works.
I must find another solution to satisfy my mind.
The only explanation that satisfies me is that which the Bible gives.
Something has come into the world which has dethroned man from his original position, and stripped him of his original privileges.
Something has come in, which, like a handful of gravel thrown into the midst of machinery, has marred the perfect order of God's creation.
And what is that _something_?
I answer, in one word, It is sin.
"Sin has entered into the world, and death by sin."
(Rom.
v.
12. ) Sin is the cause of all the sickness, and disease, and pain, and suffering, which prevail on the earth.
They are all a part of that curse which came into the world when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit and fell.
There would have been no sickness, if there had been no fall.
There would have been no disease, if there had been no sin.
I pause for a moment at this point, and yet in pausing I do not depart from my subject.
I pause to remind my readers that there is no ground so untenable as that which is occupied by the Atheist, the Deist, or the unbeliever in the Bible.
I advise every young reader of this paper, who is puzzled by the bold and specious arguments of the infidel, to study well that most important subject,--the _Difficulties of Infidelity_.
I
say boldly that it requires far more credulity to be an infidel than to be a Christian.
I say boldly, that there are great broad patent facts in the condition of mankind, which nothing but the Bible can explain, and that one of the most striking of these facts is the universal prevalence of pain, sickness, and disease.
In short, one of the mightiest difficulties in the way of Atheists and Deists, is the body of man.
You have doubtless heard of Atheists.
An Atheist is one who professes to believe that there is no God, no Creator, no First Cause, and that all things came together in this world by mere chance.
--Now shall we listen to such a doctrine as this?
Go, take an Atheist to one of the excellent surgical schools of our land, and ask him to study the wonderful structure of the human body.
Show him the matchless skill with which every joint, and vein, and valve, and muscle, and sinew, and nerve, and bone, and limb, has been formed.
Show him the perfect adaptation of every part of the human frame to the purpose which it serves.
Show him the thousand delicate contrivances for meeting wear and tear, and supplying daily waste of vigour.
And then ask this man who denies the being of a God, and a great First Cause, if all this wonderful mechanism is the result of chance?
Ask him if it came together at first by luck and accident?
Ask him if he so thinks about the watch he looks at, the bread he eats, or the coat he wears?
Oh, no!
Design is an insuperable difficulty in the Atheist's way.
_There is a God.
_ You have doubtless heard of Deists.
A Deist is one who professes to believe that there is a God, who made the world and all things therein.
But He does not believe the Bible.
"A God, but no Bible!
--a Creator, but no Christianity!"
This is the Deist's creed.
--Now, shall we listen to this doctrine?
Go again, I say, and take a Deist to an hospital, and show him some of the awful handiwork of disease.
Take him to the bed where lies some tender child, scarce knowing good from evil, with an incurable cancer.
Send him to the ward where there is a loving mother of a large family in the last stage of some excruciating disease.
Show him some of the racking pains and agonies to which flesh is heir, and ask him to account for them.
Ask this man, who believes there is a great and wise God who made the world, but cannot believe the Bible,--ask him how he accounts for these traces of disorder and imperfection in his God's creation.
Ask this man, who sneers at Christian theology and is too wise to believe the fall of Adam,--ask him upon his theory to explain the universal prevalence of pain and disease in the world.
You may ask in vain!
You will get no satisfactory answer.
Sickness and suffering are insuperable difficulties in the Deist's way.
_Man has sinned, and therefore man suffers.
_ Adam fell from his first estate, and therefore Adam's children sicken and die.
The universal prevalence of sickness is one of the indirect evidences that the Bible is true.
The Bible explains it.
The Bible answers the questions about it which will arise in every inquiring mind.
No other systems of religion can do this.
They all fail here.
They are silent.
They are confounded.
The Bible alone looks the subject in the face.
It boldly proclaims the fact that man is a fallen creature, and with equal boldness proclaims a vast remedial system to meet his wants.
I feel shut up to the conclusion that the Bible is from God.
Christianity is a revelation from heaven.
"Thy word is truth."
(John xvii.
17. ) Let us stand fast on the old ground, that the Bible, and the Bible only, is God's revelation of Himself to man.
Be not moved by the many new assaults which modern scepticism is making on the inspired volume.
Heed not the hard questions which the enemies of the faith are fond of putting about Bible difficulties, and to which perhaps you often feel unable to give an answer.
Anchor your soul firmly on this safe principle,--that the whole book is God's truth.
Tell the enemies of the Bible that, in spite of all their arguments, there is no book in the world which will bear comparison with the Bible,--none that so thoroughly meets man's wants,--none that explains so much of the state of mankind.
As to the hard things in the Bible, tell them you are content to wait.
You find enough plain truth in the book to satisfy your conscience and save your soul.
The hard things will be cleared up one day.
What you know not now, you will know hereafter.
II.
The second point I propose to consider is _the general benefits which sickness confers on mankind_.
I use that word "benefits" advisedly.
I feel it of deep importance to see this part of our subject clearly.
I know well that sickness is one of the supposed weak points in God's government of the world, on which sceptical minds love to dwell.
--"Can God be a God of love, when He allows pain?
Can God be a God of mercy, when He permits disease?
He might prevent pain and disease; but He does not.
How can these things be?"
Such is the reasoning which often comes across the heart of man.
I reply to all such reasoners, that their doubts and questionings are most unreasonable.
They might us well doubt the existence of a Creator, because the order of the universe is disturbed by earthquakes, hurricanes, and storms.
They might as well doubt the providence of God, because of the horrible massacres of Delhi and Cawnpore.
All this would be just as reasonable as to doubt the mercy of God, because of the presence of sickness in the world.
I ask all who find it hard to reconcile the prevalence of disease and pain with the love of God, to cast their eyes on the world around them, and to mark what is going on.
I ask them to observe the extent to which men constantly submit to present loss for the sake of future gain,--present sorrow for the sake of future joy,--present pain for the sake of future health.
The seed is thrown into the ground, and rots: but we sow in the hope of a future harvest.
The boy is sent to school amidst many tears: but we send him in the hope of his getting future wisdom.
The father of a family undergoes some fearful surgical operation: but he bears it, in the hope of future health.
--I ask men to apply this great principle to God's government of the world.
I ask them to believe that God allows pain, sickness, and disease, not because He loves to vex man, but because He desires to benefit man's heart, and mind, and conscience, and soul, to all eternity.
Once more I repeat, that I speak of the "benefits" of sickness on purpose and advisedly.
I know the suffering and pain which sickness entails.
I admit the misery and wretchedness which it often brings in its train.
But I cannot regard it as an unmixed evil.
I see in it a wise permission of God.
I see in it a useful provision to check the ravages of sin and the devil among men's souls.
If man had never sinned I should have been at a loss to discern the benefit of sickness.
But since sin is in the world, I can see that sickness is a good.
It is a blessing quite as much as a curse.
It is a rough schoolmaster, I grant.
But it is a real friend to man's soul.
(_a_) Sickness helps to _remind men of death_.
The most live as if they were never going to die.
They follow business, or pleasure, or politics, or science, as if earth was their eternal home.
They plan and scheme for the future, like the rich fool in the parable, as if they had a long lease of life, and were not tenants at will.
A heavy illness sometimes goes far to dispel these delusions.
It awakens men from their day-dreams, and reminds them that they have to die as well as to live.
Now this I say emphatically is a mighty good.
(_b_) Sickness helps to _make men think seriously of God_, and their souls, and the world to come.
The most in their days of health can find no time for such thoughts.
They dislike them.
They put them away.
They count them troublesome and disagreeable.
Now a severe disease has sometimes a wonderful power of mustering and rallying these thoughts, and bringing them up before the eyes of a man's soul.
Even a wicked king like Benhadad, when sick, could think of Elisha.
(2 Kings viii.
8. ) Even heathen sailors, when death was in sight, were afraid, and "cried every man to his god."
(Jonah i. 5. ) Surely anything that helps to make men think is a good.
(_c_) Sickness helps to _soften men's hearts_, and teach them wisdom.
The natural heart is as hard as a stone.
It can see no good in anything which is not of this life, and no happiness excepting in this world.
A
long illness sometimes goes far to correct these ideas.
It exposes the emptiness and hollowness of what the world calls "good" things, and teaches us to hold them with a loose hand.
The man of business finds that money alone is not everything the heart requires.
The woman of the world finds that costly apparel, and novel-reading, and the reports of balls and operas, are miserable comforters in a sick room.
Surely anything that obliges us to alter our weights and measures of earthly things is a real good.
(_d_) Sickness helps to _level and humble us_.
We are all naturally proud and high-minded.
Few, even of the poorest, are free from the infection.
Few are to be found who do not look down on somebody else, and secretly flatter themselves that they are "not as other men."
A sick bed is a mighty tamer of such thoughts as these.
It forces on us the mighty truth that we are all poor worms, that we "dwell in houses of clay," and are "crushed before the moth" (Job iv.
19), and that kings and subjects, masters and servants, rich and poor, are all dying creatures, and will soon stand side by side at the bar of God.
In the sight of the coffin and the grave it is not easy to be proud.
Surely anything that teaches that lesson is good.
(_e_) Finally, sickness helps _to try men's religion_, of what sort it is.
There are not many on earth who have on religion at all.
Yet few have a religion that will bear inspection.
Most are content with traditions received from their fathers, and can render no reason of the hope that is in them.
Now disease is sometimes most useful to a man in exposing the utter worthlessness of his soul's foundation.
It often shows him that he has nothing solid under his feet, and nothing firm under his hand.
It makes him find out that, although he may have had a form of religion, he has been all his life worshipping "an unknown God."
Many a creed looks well on the smooth waters of health, which turns out utterly unsound and useless on the rough waves of the sick bed.
The storms of winter often bring out the defects in a man's dwelling, and sickness often exposes the gracelessness of a man's soul.
Surely anything that makes us find out the real character of our faith is a good.
I do not say that sickness confers these benefits on all to whom it comes.
Alas, I can say nothing of the kind!
Myriads are yearly laid low by illness, and restored to health, who evidently learn no lesson from their sick beds, and return again to the world.
Myriads are yearly passing through sickness to the grave, and yet receiving no more spiritual impression from it than the beasts that perish.
While they live they have no feeling, and when they die there are "no bands in their death."
(Psalm lxxiii.
4. ) These are awful things to say.
But they are true.
The degree of deadness to which man's heart and conscience may attain, is a depth which I cannot pretend to fathom.
But does sickness confer the benefits of which I have been speaking on only a few?
I will allow nothing of the kind.
I believe that in very many cases sickness produces impressions more or less akin to those of which I have just been speaking.
I believe that in many minds sickness is God's "day of visitation," and that feelings are continually aroused on a sick bed which, if improved, might, by God's grace, result in salvation.
I believe that in heathen lands sickness often paves the way for the missionary, and makes the poor idolater lend a willing ear to the glad tidings of the Gospel.
I believe that in our own land sickness is one of the greatest aids to the minister of the Gospel, and that sermons and counsels are often brought home in the day of disease which we have neglected in the day of health.
I believe that sickness is one of God's most important subordinate instruments in the saving of men, and that though the feelings it calls forth are often temporary, it is also often a means whereby the Spirit works effectually on the heart.
In short, I believe firmly that the sickness of men's bodies has often led, in God's wonderful providence, to the salvation of men's souls.
I leave this branch of my subject here.
It needs no further remark.
If sickness can do the things of which I have been speaking (and who will gainsay it?
), if sickness in a wicked world can help to make men think of God and their souls, then sickness confers benefits on mankind.
We have no right to murmur at sickness, and repine at its presence in the world.
We ought rather to thank God for it.
It is God's witness.
It is the soul's adviser.
It is an awakener to the conscience.
It is a purifier to the heart.
Surely I have a right to tell you that sickness is a blessing and not a curse,--a help and not an injury,--a gain and not a loss,--a friend and not a foe to mankind.
So long as we have a world wherein there is sin, it is a mercy that it is a world wherein there is sickness.
III.
The third and last point which I propose to consider, is _the special duties which the prevalence of sickness entails on each one of ourselves_.
I should be sorry to leave the subject of sickness without saying something on this point.
I hold it to be of cardinal importance not to be content with generalities in delivering God's message to souls.
I am anxious to impress on each one into whose hands this paper may fall, his own personal responsibility in connection with the subject.
I would fain have no one lay down this paper unable to answer the questions,--"What practical lesson have I learned?
What, in a world of disease and death, what ought I to do?"
(_a_) One paramount duty which the prevalence of sickness entails on man, is that of _living habitually prepared to meet God_.
Sickness is a remembrancer of death.
Death is the door through which we must all pass to judgment.
Judgment is the time when we must at last see God face to face.
Surely the first lesson which the inhabitant of a sick and dying world should learn should be to prepare to meet his God.
When are you prepared to meet God?
Never till your iniquities are forgiven, and your sin covered!
